


Touch in the Dark

by TheVengeance



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Mob, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Come Sharing, F/F, F/M, Gang Violence, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Polyamory Negotiations, Possessive Bucky Barnes, Possessive Steve Rogers, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 74,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23556382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVengeance/pseuds/TheVengeance
Summary: Steve Rogers and James Romanov are two of the Six, the organization of mob lords that rule over New York City. On a whim, they saved Tony Stark from being beaten to death and put a gun in his hand to kill his father.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Sam Wilson, Loki/Thor (Marvel), Pepper Potts/Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, briefly - Relationship
Comments: 165
Kudos: 299





	1. Mal'chik

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Way You Look](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19935151) by [im95notdead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/im95notdead/pseuds/im95notdead), [redhead_robin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhead_robin/pseuds/redhead_robin). 



> This work was inspired by an AMAZING Stony mob story I read months ago and couldn't get out of my head. So so good. I highly suggest (JUST DO IT) reading that work cause it's awesome, lovely and many many other adjectives that are great.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No hesitation, we're diving right in.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, _mal’chik_?”

James Romanov lounged easily in his leather chair, framed by stormy grey drapes that bordered the expanse of wintery New York sky visible through the window behind him. Planted behind his heavy mahogany desk and dressed elegantly in a bespoke suit in navy blue, he looked more like some English lord rather than the leader of the ruling mob of Brooklyn. But even if you were ignorant of the violent acts committed by the Russian _Bratva_ , the coldness in James Romanov’s blue-grey eyes was an obvious enough warning to those smart enough to see it. It also gave him the name that most people knew him by. _Winter_. 

Antonio Edward Stark stood across from him, pushing down his unease as he met the mobster’s eyes squarely. “I was hoping to take you up on your offer if it’s still available.” Tony made conscious effort to speak smoothly but respectfully, tamping down any hint of nerves. He knew James wouldn’t hurt him (okay, more like 90% sure but that’s still good odds) out of respect for Steve, but his gut still churned with anxiety.

James merely waited, mild expression firmly in place. Steve's lover or no, James didn’t trust him.

Tony didn’t begrudge him, it was only a few months that he’d come into their lives and being the leaders of two of the biggest mobs in the city didn’t exactly lend trust easily. 

His voice sounding loud in the heavy silence, Tony elaborated. “I was rude to you in the hospital, the night that Steve…was emotional.” A more diplomatic way of alluding to the fact that Steve had gotten high off the morphine used to treat the pains from his wounds and broken down, crying and raging in a way that had terrified Tony when their relationship was still so new.

Tony had understood the why of it, that Steve was grieving, _mourning_ the fact that Falsworth—one of his oldest friends and a man that had saved his life just as much as Steve saved his—had turned against him because he learned that Steve loved men as well as women and tried to kill him for it. Understanding Steve's pain hadn't been the problem. What Tony struggled with was the helplessness he had felt, straining to comfort and keep the older man together when he was still trying to find his own footing after his own beating, Howard's death, moving in with Steve, falling in love with a _man_ —it was all a lot to adjust to all around. 

James had offered to deal with it for him but Tony had refused, basically dismissed him from the room like a lackey. And Tony had stood by his word, ignoring the fact that he had in no way endeared himself to James Romanov, Steve’s oldest friend and past lover, but at the time, that hadn’t mattered—only Steve had mattered at that moment.

But moments pass and times change and now he needed to undo the damage he had done.

“I’m sorry about the way I acted, especially after everything you’ve done,” Tony continued. “You’re the one who saved Steve’s life and was responsible for all of his care and I am eternally grateful for that—”

“I didn’t do any of that for you,” James interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “And I don’t need you to remind me of my own actions. Stop wasting my time, why are you here?”

Tony hesitated. Things had changed between them all since Tony had started living with Steve. James hadn’t attended a family dinner since he had come back from Russia, and things between him and Steve were still tense. But James was the only one he could ask. 

“Before I killed Howard,” he said softly, “you asked if I wanted to learn how to use a knife. If the offer’s still on the table, I’d like you to teach me.” 

James tilted his head, looking at Tony more intently.

“What changed your mind? The last we spoke of it, you decided you didn’t like close quarter fighting.”

Tony nodded. “I still don’t. But you were right, if I truly want to support Steve I need to be involved, I need to know his life to know him. And his life—your lives—are violent ones. I need to be able to protect myself and not be a liability to him.”

“What a noble goal,” James murmured mockingly before his voice hardened. “But you need intention if I’m going to put a weapon in your hand and spend time training you. My time is too valuable for someone with half-baked conviction who’s going to just quit once things get too scary. This isn’t some quaint little hobby you can pick up and drop when it gets too hard. Nor is it like using a gun." His mouth twisted into a mean smile. "Knives are bloodier and much more intimate; will you be able to handle that? The smell of the blood, the hot spill of it over your hands?”

Tony grew pale at the images James put in his head, flashing back to the times Howard’s hands had been stained with his own blood. Of the nights after killing him that stretched out into eternity, unable to sleep, unable to eat, unsure for who he was even grieving for. Howard, for taking his life? Peter, for stealing away the only father his brother had known? Himself?

But then he thought of Steve. Steve, who had to leave his hospital bed with a barely healed bullet wound in his chest, to weed out the bad seeds in his organization. Steve, who went into surgery for multiple stab wounds on top of his reopened gunshot wound, while Tony could only wait in the hospital corridor not knowing whether the man he loved was going to survive the night. Steve, who had to be on enforced bedrest for six weeks before he could come home, becoming angrier day by day as he worked through grief and anger and betrayal.

Tony had been helpless through it all, unable to anything but hold his lover in the aftermath and comfort him best he could. 

Holding tight to thoughts of Steve, Tony felt his resolve harden. “I’m not going to stop until I’m good enough to kill _you_.”

A deadly silence fell over the room, time enough for Tony to fully absorb his own impetuous words and have a moment to regret his life choices. After years of Howard’s abuse, he didn’t usually feel comfortable to mouth off the way he just did but he got fired up when he thought about protecting Steve for once. Yep, that’s it. If he dies, he’s blaming Steve. 

Stumbling out an apology, an explanation—kill someone _as skilled as him_ that’s what he was trying to say—

He is shocked speechless when James bursts out laughing as if the threat was the funniest thing he’d ever heard instead of lunging over the desk and eviscerating him like the image his mind oh so helpfully provides. Tony could only guess that not many dared to threaten the mob boss and the rarity of someone doing so made the situation hilarious. The fact that it was Tony, all of five foot six and slim—with no deadly training _whatsoever_ —made for great comedy. Especially for the _Bratva_ leader that had extensive experience in brutally reinforcing his claim.

Tony doubted James feared anything so he didn’t bother being insulted at how blithely unconcerned he was. “Will you teach me?”

James raised one shoulder in an elegantly careless movement. “I’ll talk to Steve about it. You’re under his protection and while we have a long-lasting alliance, I don’t want him coming at me when you come home marked up with cuts and bruises. Besides,” he indicated Tony’s form, “he might get jealous that he’s won’t be the only one getting his hands on you anymore.”

Tony felt his face fill with heat, but he knew that James meant nothing by the comment. In fact, after walking in on James and Steve’s shared kiss months before, he was sure that rather than his body, the one who James would rather be holding in his arms was the blond Irishman. It was part of why things were still so awkward between them, and why Tony didn’t mind if James disliked him.

If he was in love with Steve and Steve had chosen another, it would be difficult for him to try and make nice. That was also why he had no intention of hiding all this from Steve. Though Tony did suspect that Steve might object to him potentially coming home battered and bruised, none of them needed more secrets between them right now. Steve’s near-death experience had been a brutal wake-up call, hammering in the unpredictability of their lives. Their safety was hard-fought commodity and Tony wasn’t going to take it for granted anymore. 

“Is there anything I can do in return?” Tony offered. He wasn’t sure what he could offer, before coming to live with Steve he only had $26 to his name. Now everything he had was either a gift from Steve or Aunt Sarah or something crafted by hand from Peter, so it was too precious to trade. But it felt wrong to take something for nothing. 

Surprisingly, James’s face closed off, all signs of his laughter wiped away and eyes as chilling as they had been when Tony walked in. Tony was reminded all at once that while the man in front of him had saved his life and ensured his care, he was _not_ his friend. 

“You have nothing I want.” 

Tony took it for the dismissal it was and left. 

* * *

He had lied, of course. Tony Stark had the one thing James wanted more than anything for a very long time: Steve Rogers’s love. A love which he had apparently possessed when they were both young and stupid and had unwittingly handed it away. 

James thought back to that night in Steve’s bedroom all those months before. The restless tension as he prepared to be the most honest about his feelings than he had been in a long time. The feeling of Steve on his lips when he spontaneously leapt in after deciding that actions speak louder than words…the heat of his body in James’ hands, how _good_ it felt when Steve finally wrapped his arms around his neck and returned his kiss. That heart-stopping moment where he let James pull his body close, giving him a sweet taste of hope before Steve had gently pushed him away and admitted that he _had been_ in love with James. Past tense. Over.

James had suspected that Steve was developing feelings for Tony, feared that it wasn't just a passing lustful haze, but it still cut him off at the knees to face the reality that Steve was in love with another.

Not knowing what else to do, desperately needing space, James had wrenched brutal control over his emotions and left. Couldn’t stay in that house, didn’t even want to stay in the fucking city. No, instead he pretended to run off to Russia, and stayed far away from his and Steve's usual haunts, not wanting to catch a hint of the man he still loved despite the ache in his chest.

So many years spent pining only to realize that his love had been returned, and he had been too stupid to realize it. The irony was laughable if it didn’t also make him want to bloody his knife on his own skin. 

A knock at the door broke him out of his thoughts. Granting permission, he watched as Dmitri walked in. 

“ _There’s a little Irish one to see you, Winter,_ ” his second-in-command said in Russian. “ _A girl from the Potts family_.” 

James’ eyebrows went up. “ _Alone?_ ” It was rare enough that respectable females wanted to meet with someone like him (at least in the light of day), let alone a girl unchaperoned. Curiosity piqued, James nodded. “ _Send her in._ ” 

The Potts family wasn’t especially prominent in any way, traditional working-class Irish brood. They were unremarkable, except for that incident with the oldest son a few years back.

Everyone had heard how he had been run out of his home for being with a man, his father throwing him out on the street with only the clothes on his back and his mother sobbing noisily. The homophobia in the neighbourhood had flared thick and mean for a few weeks after that, men on the edge and ready to start a fight with anyone who even seemed remotely inclined to those preferences. He and Steve had to make sure to be careful, not as secure in their positions and fearful of an attack by their own men.

The previous attempts on Steve’s life in recent months had shown them that they were right to be cautious. 

A red-headed girl came through the door, back straight and face calm. She was a pretty thing but young, obviously no more than twenty. And she seemed to be aware of that, trying hard to embody a woman older than her years. When he rose to greet her, James could see the slight tremble in her hands, giving away her fear. She was right to be afraid, he was not a man known for his mercy or understanding and he knew his reputation over the last few months had only gotten worse after he took out his anger about Steve on a few unlucky smugglers. 

Though afraid, the girl seemed like the type used to playing men for fools, either through feminine wiles or by them underestimating her intelligence. He bet on the latter. As a brothel owner, he’d met many intelligent women over the years that wouldn’t hesitate to put a knife in his back if it suited them. Or got them ahead to where they wanted to go.

He appreciated strength when he saw it and in the past, hadn’t hesitated to utilize that female cunning in his favour. Many of the politicians in his area were quite susceptible to the charms of a beautiful woman and didn’t mind being convinced to look the other way in terms of his business. The mayor in particular was one of his best clients, though he was partial to the curvier side of the spectrum.

Watching the girl approach, he held out his hand to hers to shake, watching in amusement as her brows twitched in surprise. Most people were expecting to be threatened outright the first time they met with him, held at gunpoint or expected to be blackmailed to commit some horrific crime right off the bat. As if he would be stupid enough to give an important task that relied heavily on discretion to any green wannabe gangster that walked through his door. 

They were all so guarded that they were weak to the honeyed approach. A little wine, some normal conversation and they relaxed, got more comfortable and let down their guard to spill their secrets so easily it was laughable.

“I understand you’re one of the Potts’ girls. I’ve never had one of your family in my office before, I admit I’m a bit curious as to what would make you the first.” Though a bit damp, her grip was firm. She gave him a cursory once over, smiling pleasantly in return of his greeting. "You’re the daughter of Laurence and Emily Potts, correct?”

She nodded. “Yes, my name is Virginia Potts, but everyone calls me Pepper. Thank you for meeting with me, sir. I know this is a bit unorthodox.” He gestured to one of the low backed chairs in front of him and she took a seat. 

“You’d be surprised. What brings you here?” 

She straightened her spine determinably, palms pressing together on her lap. “Well, I’d like a job, sir.” James' brows shot up. 

“With me? Why not work in a factory or an office?” Young women from respectable families didn’t come to make deals with mobsters if they could help it. Not unless they were in some dire straits, either suddenly needing money or having nowhere to go. Or both. 

“Well, sir, my family is desperate for money to pay off my dead brother’s debt,” she replied levelly, shifting in her seat. “Gangsters from Madame Gao showed up today at my father’s meat shop. They said that after my brother had…run off, he fell into a bad crowd. Got addicted to heroin and racked up at least a hundred dollars in debt.” She let out a shaky breath, eyes becoming bright with tears.

“They said that we have a week to pay it off or my father’s going to have to make some deal with Madame Gao. Which could mean anything!” She gestured with a sweep of her hand, becoming more panicked as she spoke. “They could demand we sell drugs along with meats, have one of my little brothers be a pusher. Please sir, I don’t want my younger siblings to be tied up in that kind of life.” Her eyes overflowed, and she bit her lip as if to hold back sobs, her shoulders hunching around her ears as she curled into herself. The room filled with the sounds of her crying and she covered her face with her palms, trying to stifle them. 

James got up, reaching for his handkerchief as he walked around his desk to lean against the corner near her, murmuring for her to take it. He waited out her cries, not saying anything until she calmed again. 

He smiled softly at her when she looked up at him, breathing slow and deep to compose herself. “Are you okay now, Miss Potts?”

“Yes, thank you. I didn’t mean to fall apart like that.” She wiped at her face, blotting underneath her eyes lightly and sniffling into the kerchief. 

He nodded understandingly but his heart remained unmoved. “That’s quite all right Miss Potts. Now before we continue, I have a favour to ask.”

She leaned forward eagerly. “Yes, sir, anything.”

He leaned forward too. “I need you to stop lying to me.”

The small smile on her face froze, her eyes widening as she felt the slight pressure of a knife tip against her neck.

“I must admit Miss Potts, that was quite a convincing performance. I almost would have believed it if I didn’t know that Madame Gao would never dare to infringe on my territory unless inviting a gang war.” His voice was unaffected, still as charming as it had been when he had greeted her as if he didn't have a knife to her throat. She started trembling at the realization that it wouldn't even bother him to kill her, that he could cut her throat and look down on her dying body with the same kind of cool detachment he was showing now. 

He leaned back to stare at her, eyes pinned on hers, knife barely pressing in. “Now I know Madame Gao. Your brother’s not dead, is he? The truth this time, dear Pepper.”

“No, sir.”

“Yes, because the way she operates, she’ll come to the family and offer a bargain. Either she takes her debt in dollars or in flesh. That’s what she offered your family isn’t it?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“What was the deal, Pepper?” 

Her voice wavered under those icy blue eyes, fear freezing her in place. “She said either we pay off the money by the end of the week or she was going to kill my brother, make an example of him to warn others not to rip her off.”

And it would be a grisly example. Madame Gao knew how to get very creative in her punishments because any sign of weakness would just mean bad news. However, over the years, it had become less a rationality than a revelry in her power, her demonstrations growing less frequent but infinitely more vicious. In one of her more memorable examples, she had suspended a man over a garden of bamboo, sharpening their points so as the plant grew they pierced into the man above it. James had seen the man alive at one of their meetings, bamboo gorging through him. Days later he was found dead in an alley, bamboo still locked in place, threaded through muscle and bone. 

James pulled the knife away from Pepper’s skin, letting her speak a bit more easily. “Why come to me? Why not make a deal with her?”

A drop of blood ran down her neck but she looked at him directly. “I didn’t lie about that part. I don’t want my siblings to get involved in dealing drugs. They’ll never escape that life.” She nodded toward him. “I know who you are. You deal in sex.” His eyebrows went up at her blunt language. “I’d rather sell my body to the highest bidder then let my siblings take the fall.”

He pulled away his knife, assessing the girl in front of him. She was a beauty, no doubt about it. Bright blue eyes and delicate, fair, features. Combine that with warm auburn hair that fell down her back in a straight waterfall and her willowy figure, and she could sell for one of his higher clients at the brothel, easily.

“What of your fiancé?”

She started in shock. “I didn’t know you knew about that.” He merely smiled. 

Pepper sighed. “His family is no wealthier than ours. And even if we used all the money for the wedding, it’s still not enough. And after the news today,” she shook her head. “I called it off.”

He folded his arms across his chest, staring down at her. “You said this was your brother’s debts? Do you mean the one that enjoyed other men?” Her face turning to stone, a defensive posture that said that she was used to others bringing up the incident and throwing it in her face.

“Yes. That brother.”

He watched her carefully. “Some would call him a sexual deviant. Not worth all the trouble. I find it hard to believe that the family that kicked him out wants to save him.” 

Her eyes flashed fire. “I don’t care what anyone else says," she snarled. "He’s _my_ brother. If this is what I must do to save him, then I don’t care.” 

“Hmm. I see.” They were interrupted by knocking at the door before Dmitri walked in again, handing him his coat. 

“ _Winter, it is time. She is expecting you at the brothel this week_.” James nodded and shrugged into his coat, wrapping himself in the scarf Dmitri handed over. 

He turned back to look at Pepper who had risen when Dmitri had come into the room. “You want to work in a brothel?” James asked. 

She stepped towards him, nodding. “Yes, sir. Please. I want to save my brother. My family hasn’t been good to him and I didn’t stand by him then when he needed me, but I want to stand by him now.”

He paused for another minute, she seemed like a good girl and despite himself he felt himself warming to the strength he saw within her. “Are you sure? This is something you cannot take back. You might find yourself shunned from your family as well, from all of polite society. Is it worth it?”

But she stared back at him, resolute. Strange how he’s met two such young, determined people in the same day. “I’m sure. He deserves a chance to live.”

“Then let’s go.”


	2. Victims of Circumstance

Steve was pounding at the sandbag, trying and failing to not think about the man who used to inhabit the basement gym with him. The more tried not to think of it, the more he thought about it and the more pissed off he got. Seven years. _Seven years_. Seven goddamn years and war together and still Falsworth turned on him. Tried to murder him because he loved another man. 

So, he pounded on the sandbag. Pounded all his rage at the men that betrayed him, his bitterness at having to hide his love for Tony the same way he had had to hide it from James all those years ago. Hated the fact that hiding everything made it seem wrong and tainted when it was so beautiful. Pounded until one of the seams ripped and sand spilt out all over him.

Panting hard, he stopped and lowered his arms, looking at the way he was covered. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, he tried brushing the sand off hands and bare chest but it was stuck with the light sheen of sweat that covered him. He would definitely need a bath. 

“Damn Cap,” a voice called over his shoulder. Steve turned around to see Dugan walking towards him, eyebrows raised at the sagging sandbag before looking over at his sand speckled self. “It looks like you went to the beach.”

Steve glared. “Stupid bag is all worn out, it should’ve been replaced.” 

Dugan rubbed the back of his neck, voice soft. “Yeah, the upkeep here was Falsworth’s responsibility.” Seeing the way his Steve’s shoulders stiffened, Dugan sighed, dropping his arm. “Look, boss. I know you’re pissed about what happened and about how Falsworth ended up being a dirty, rotten traitor. But the man’s dead now and we have to move on.”

Knowing he was right, Steve let out a deep breath, trying to relax some of the tension in his body. “Yeah, okay.”

Dugan nodded again. “Okay, cause we need to talk shop.” Dugan grabbed Steve a rag to wipe off the sand sticking to him as he talked. “So Falsworth was the trainer for the men as well as one of our best snipers. We need to replace those positions, but I thought it would be best if we fill that with two separate members instead of relying so much on just one. A huge part of Falsworth's influence was because of the prominence of his position in the organization. We want to make sure and limit the new folks and their range of influence until we know we can trust them.” He handed Steve two files, each filled with several names. "Therefore, these are the possible candidates I found for the trainer position and here are the ones for the sniper position."

Steve idly flipped through the options. “Okay, I recognize some of our men. Who are these others?” He pointed to a few outliers. 

“Independents. Highly trained, but with no allegiance to any of the gangs in the area.” 

“Are you sure?” Dugan gave him a look. “Yeah, okay. How soon can we get them all here?” 

Dugan frowned, thinking of the responsibilities of the men he listed. “I would say we could schedule them all in the next week.” 

“Okay set it up and clear my schedule for those times.” He closed the folder, making plans to give all the candidates a more thorough look over once later that evening. 

Dugan folded his arms, shoulders squaring. “You better not be thinking of fighting all of them.”

Steve straightened immediately, eyes going flinty. “I wasn’t aware I appointed you as my nanny.” Usually, he wouldn’t care if Dugan pushed back, they’ve known each other so long and the man had stood beside him through everything. But thoughts of Falsworth and his betrayal were still too close to the surface and no matter how much they needed to move on and get everything back in place, Steve knew that getting over the betrayal of a friend would take time. 

But Dugan knew him, knew where his thoughts turned and he didn’t budge. “Cap, you and I both know that you’re nowhere recovered enough for you to be fighting all those men all by yourself. And even if you did ignore me and go on ahead with your bullheadedness, I’m pretty sure that boy of yours would not be so convinced. You know he’s just going to plant himself in your path, talking sense in that way of his until you give.” 

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle at the mental image, knowing that Dugan was right on both accounts. It’s been more than half a year since all the nonsense but broken bones, gunshot wounds and knife wounds took a while to heal. In that time, Steve had lost muscle mass and stamina on his enforced bedrest, his body now weaker than he was used to it being. He wouldn’t be able to take down at least 12 men in a day of extensively testing their skills and training. And his lover was smart enough to know that.

Even young and as inexperienced in fighting as he was, Tony would try and convince Steve to see things his way, to take it _easy_. He wouldn't use force to get his way, just a gentle convincing that somehow got Steve to listen even in his most unreasonable moods. And if that didn’t work, Tony was more than comfortable enough now to use kisses to his advantage. 

Maybe he _should_ be stubborn if it meant Tony would come and convince him….

“Boss?” Realizing that he had lost himself in a daydream about Tony’s lips and other lush attributes, Steve tuned back into Dugan’s waiting expression. 

“Fine,” he agreed. “We’ll have them fight each other. But I’m still going to be there to get a feel for them and their fighting styles.”

“Deal. Besides, it wouldn’t be a good look for the gang if the boss is waylaid in the hospital for another 6 weeks.” Dugan’s words were teasing but his expression wasn’t. 

After the recent mutiny amongst the ranks, they needed to tighten up or they would appear weak. Otherwise, it would be an engraved invitation for one of the other gangs to try and poach territory or for a more organized revolt from within. They were probably already being eyed, the predators around them wondering if now would be the opportune time to strike. That was the other reason they needed to fill the slots, and soon. They needed to re-instill the sense of order, remind the men of the brutal consequences of any disloyalty.

They couldn’t be found lacking or they would be caught with their pants down if an attack did come. No insubordination could be tolerated right now or someone might finish what Falsworth started. 

Nodding to show he heard the warning, Steve turned to retire for the night, ready for food, shower and Tony. 

“Cap, one more thing.” Steve glanced back and saw that Dugan’s face was carefully blank. “Your boy. One of the fellas passed along that he went to visit a certain Russian friend of ours. They spoke for a half-hour, closed door.”

_Why the hell had Tony gone to visit James?_

* * *

Tony helped Sarah make dinner that night, deciding on a simple but filling _cacio e pepe_ with a nice wine accompaniment. He used his mamma’s pasta maker to start from scratch and let memories of her teaching him how to use it wash over him. Sarah was wonderful and took good care of him and Peter like a true mother, but it still ached to think about his _mamma_.

She would have loved the warmth of the Rogers household, sharing recipes and gossip with Sarah in the kitchen as the two of them giggled like schoolgirls. She was the one who would pull him to dance with her in the kitchen, twirling around to the sounds of the radio. He missed the lightness of her spirit that was so visibly absent by the time of her death.

He hoped Howard rotted in hell for the abuse that he had put her through. 

Pushing away the dark turn in his thoughts, Tony relaxed into the lull of working with his hands, letting it soothe him. Mixing, rolling and flattening out the dough, turning the crank and pulling out strands of pasta to boil. Rinse and repeat, his mind falling into an easy trance as he worked, and drifting to thoughts about his recent meeting with the Russian mob lord.

Tony was worried about bringing up the meeting with James to Steve, describing the deal he had struck in order to learn knife fighting. Steve was protective enough to reject the idea outright, but Tony knew that he couldn’t live always being protected at the risk of others. He knew what he was signing up for when he decided to keep living with Steve, work with him and love him, knew the possibilities that others would find out their secrets, turn against them and attack them. It was a selfish choice, choosing to stay when he knew that Peter would be at risk living under the same roof then he would have been if they had followed Tony's initial plan and just left the city.

He refused to live in fear of the day that _maybe_ all of that would happen again. The only thing he was afraid of right now was losing himself by deepening his ability to dole out violence. Howard may not have been his biological father, but nurture was half of the nature/nurture equation.

_What if become just like him?_

His mind flashed back to the things James had described. Killing Howard had been quick, one shot to the head and he was dead. Killing someone with a knife…drawing it across their neck and feeling the blood pour hot and wet over his hand…Tony felt his stomach lurch. 

“Tony?” The sound of his brother’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Turning around, he moved to take 9-year old Peter into his arms, drawing comfort from the familiarity of his small, adolescent body. 

“ _Hello, cucciolo. Did you finish reading your book_?” Tony murmured into his hair in Italian. His cute little bear with the fluffy hair, like their mother used to call him. 

Peter peeked up, eyes shining with excitement through his curls. “Yea! Oh, it was so fun, there was this pirate and his best mate and they sailed all around the ocean saving people from an evil king who wanted to rule over everyone! And there was this girl and everyone thought she was a spoiled princess but she was really an assassin and she ended up being the one to end the king and save everyone!”

“That does sound fun, _cucciolo_.” Tony leaned down and tickled his little brother’s sides. “Maybe one day you’ll run off and sail the seas, huh? And leave your poor _fratello_ all alone here?”

Peter screeched and wiggled to get away from his brother. “No! I pro-pro-promise I won’t leave! Stoooooop!” He dissolved into giggles. 

Tony kept going mercilessly, loving the look of joy on Peter's face. He had filled out more and had lost that pinched look of worry that had been there when they were living with Howard. Being in the Rogers' household and being spoiled by the excess of love and food that Sarah showered on him had done him good. It eased the guilt of the selfishness of his choice to see Peter doing so well. 

“What in the world is going on here?” Sarah stood in the doorway of the kitchen, arms folded and an incredulous look on her face. She aimed a stern look towards Peter, but Tony caught the mischief in her eyes. “I thought I sent you to get the dishes to set the table, young man, and here I catch you playing?”

“N-no! It’s not m-my faaaaault!” Peter gasped helplessly, still wiggling to get away from Tony's hands. “Tony’s torturing me Auntie b-b-because he thinks I’ll run off and be a pirate!”

"Oh is that so?" Sarah turned that stern look on Tony, and he froze, Peter sagging in relief against him. "And here I thought I had successfully conscripted him into kitchen duty, but I see we have another rebellion on our hands." She propped her hands on her hips. "What say you, Captain Peter? What should his punishment be?"

"Walk the plank!" Peter cried out immediately, pumping his fist in the air. Tony threw his flour-dusted hands up in surrender as his brother tackled him, making an _oof_ when his head hit him in the chest and took them both down. 

Sarah chuckled, eyes shining at the sight of the two boys laying sprawled on the floor. “Well, come on then, stop lollygagging. Grab the plates, little Captain, we have work to get to.” 

“Yes, ma’am!” Peter scurried up and saluted her, and Tony exchanged a fond glance with Sarah over the boy’s dramatics. 

The rest of dinner was reasonably calmer, Sarah and Steve asking Peter about any new friends in school and his lessons while Tony watched, feeling reflective and content. He did steal a glance or three at Steve, but when the man raised a brow in question he merely shook his head and smiled. 

After dinner, Tony and Steve made their way to the study on the first floor. They liked spending time after dinner together, a private moment carved out of their busy days to talk or dance to one of the records or even just to cuddle. Whatever it was, Steve had made sure that any business he had didn’t cut into his personal time with Tony. 

Tony settled on the couch, making himself comfortable as he thought of how to bring up his conversation with James. 

Steve settled next to him, leaving a foot of distance between them so he could brace himself against the arm of the couch. His blue eyes were warm but assessing when they regarded Tony.

“You’ve been really quiet tonight.” Steve reached out to cup Tony’s face, brushing his thumb over the apple of his cheek in a light caress. Tony held the hand to him, turning his face to press a light kiss to the palm before pulling the hand down to hold on his lap. 

“Do you remember when I first came here? It was right after you and James had saved me from Howard's beating and I was laid up in the hospital for weeks." Steve nodded but stayed quiet. "I still can't believe you chose to help me even after only knowing me for a couple of weeks before that, and only as the boy who came to deliver your sandwiches," Tony marvelled, thinking back to the early days when they barely knew each other. "You saved my life, took Peter under your protection, put me up in a hospital that I wouldn't have been able to afford. You took care of everything," he tilted his head, meeting Steve's eyes with his own. "And then you told me you were holding onto Howard, saving him for me so that I could choose how to end his life.” 

"Do you regret it?" Steve asked quietly, serious blue eyes questing over Tony's expression, trying to read his thoughts.

Tony shook his head. Killing Howard had changed him, broken whatever innocence that had still survived within him, but he didn't regret it. It had come down to either him or Howard, and he was done being someone else's punching bag. 

Tony took a deep breath. “I went to see James today.” Steve nodded again. Of course he knew. 

“I decided to take him up on his offer. I want to learn how to fight with a knife and be able to stand beside you as an asset.”

Steve sighed as he tugged Tony sideways into his lap, wrapping his arms around him possessively. Tony curled into him easily, breathing in the scent of Steve, cologne mixed with the faint smokiness of gunpowder and tobacco, and pressing into him as if to hide from the dark memories that swam through his mind. “Are you sure?” Steve asked, voice as soft and gentle as the hands that stroked Tony's side to soothe him. Already familiar with the way that Tony's mind worked. “You’ve already had a lot of violence in your life; dealing it out is going to take a toll on you. It will make your nightmares worse, make you more paranoid about an attack, bring up dark memories even as it carves new ones into you.”

Tony rolled his head against Steve’s shoulder, feeling the soft warnings as if they were weights. He knew Steve was right, getting involved in the bloodier aspects of Steve's life was sure to make his own nightmares worse, and there _was_ a part of him that wanted no part in hurting anyone. After living through years of abuse, it wanted to run as far away from violence as it could. 

But there was another part, one that he tried to keep buried but it burned like a dark core in the pit of his stomach. It was the part of him that was angry at being hurt for so many years, the part of him that made him pick himself up after every drunken night and treat the bruises from his father’s fists. It was forged from anger and bitterness, that the people around him had turned a blind eye to his suffering, never stepping in no matter how loud or vicious Howard had gotten.

He had stopped waiting for someone to save him years ago, surviving only so that he could look after Peter and distract Howard from trying to take his anger out on him. _That_ part of him was vengeful against the world and wanted to carve out its own brand of justice.

“I don’t want to be a victim anymore, Steve.” Tony’s throat ached with anger and remembered pain. “I would rather die than be helpless again. I know that this will probably make things worse and cause more nightmares, but _I need this_. I need to be able to stop looking over my shoulder because I know that I have no way to defend myself. I need to have the power to take my safety in my own hands to protect myself and our family.” Tony reached up to bracket Steve’s face in his hands, letting him see the determination in his eyes. “And if that means learning to chop off the hands of anyone who wants to hurt Peter or Sarah or _you_ , I’m going to do it.”

Steve groaned at the sharp edge in Tony’s voice before dragging him close for a desperate kiss. “You have no idea how beautiful you are when you’re vicious,” Steve whispered against his lips before leaning in to nip and suck at the lushness. The darkness in his veins growing heated, Tony clutched Steve to him, toppling them both back towards the cushions and pulling at Steve’s lapels to yank him hard and heavy over his body.

Steve sank into the vee of Tony’s spread thighs, pressing against him with delicious friction as he continued to lick into his mouth. Things were quickly going out of control. They had never done anything other than kissing outside of their bedroom because even in their home, the thought of being walked in on by Steve’s _mother_ was too humiliating to bear. 

But Tony couldn’t help it and no longer cared. He never expected Steve to respond like this. He had been worried that Steve would forbid him from putting himself at risk, too worried about losing him or seeing him get hurt to allow him that freedom. This fevered need that seemed to delight in Tony’s desire for violence was completely unexpected. If he had known Steve would react like _this,_ he would have spoken sooner.

Steve rose a bit to pull at Tony’s shirt roughly, uncaring of buttons flying every which direction. He used his new access to his advantage, lowering his mouth to Tony's chest to suck and nip at his nipples, delighting in how achingly sensitive Tony was.

Tony moaned at the feeling of Steve's tongue on him, callused fingers twisting and plucking the neglected bud like a guitarist, his skilled hands playing at Tony's body like it was his own instrument. His to tease, his to pleasure, his to own. Already impatient, Tony's nails scratched over the width of Steve's shoulders, pushing and pulling as his body grew confused over wanting more and feeling _too much_.

He hissed at the sting when Steve bit at his nipples harshly in punishment for his impatience, quickly soothing the hurt with his tongue and driving Tony further down into his pleasurable haze. Tony started to feel heated like a wildfire was running in his blood and settling in his stomach to wind tight with anticipation and need. He was set aflame, burning from the inside out and it only worsened as Steve’s mouth moved further downward, pausing just above Tony’s waistline to tease while his hands stroked his inner thighs. The strokes were firm but didn’t move closer to the spot where Tony desperately wanted to be touched and Tony whined, needing for Steve to _touch him_. 

“Steve, _Steve_ ,” he managed to gasp out, pulling at the short blond hairs at the nape of his neck to get his attention. “Please, I can’t wait.” 

“I know, love, I know, let me,” Steve murmured, reaching out for a small discreet drawer on the side table. He pulled out a small bottle of oil with one hand as he used the other to unbutton both their fronts. 

“Come here,” he pulled at Tony’s arm, encouraging him to straddle Steve’s thighs and perch on his lap. Steve drizzled some of the oil in his hand before encircling both their members together. Tony’s breath hitched at the warm slickness, undulated his hips and fucking himself into Steve’s large hand. He was so beautiful, looking utterly debauched with his blond hair mussed from Tony’s eager hands and lips red with Tony’s kisses. But it was the heat of Steve’s gaze on him that pushed Tony further to the edge. Possessive and greedy, those blue eyes told him that he was wanted, that he was _owned_. 

Overwhelmed and pressed tightly against each other, Steve’s firm strokes on them both, Tony threw back his head, back arching as his mind blanked out with pleasure. Spilling out into Steve’s hand, he was vaguely aware of Steve coming soon after, leaning forward to press his forehead against Tony’s chest as he choked out a muffled groan with his own release. 

Tony opened his eyes at the feeling of gentle lips on his, gazing down at a smiling and satisfied Steve. He smiled back, feeling the same satisfaction in his lax limbs. He knew their clothes were probably ruined, stained with oil and other fluids and his shirt was hanging half off his body and missing buttons but he couldn’t find it in him to care. They’d have to sneak upstairs at some point and take a shower or at least wipe down with clean cloths but that could wait a minute. Right now, he tugged his lover back close and they traded easy, lazy kisses, wrapped up in each other’s arms. 

* * *

Steve was at the office the next day when Dugan came in with an announcement. “Cap, we have an unaligned police detective who wants to have a word.”

Steve didn’t bother to look up from where he was standing by his desk, perusing through the files of the trainers and snipers spread out across the surface. “I thought all the policemen were bought.”

“Not this one, he’s new in town. Apparently, the commissioner was forced into taking him on.”

“So why does he want to talk to me?”

“It seems like he’s making the rounds. The men reported that he’s visited two of the other mob lords in the area. He went to Madame Gao and then to the Luke Cage.” Steve flipped the files closed to continue later and waved a hand to let the man in. Most of the police were negligible, owing their loyalty to one gang or another and used to clean up inconvenient messes. Most precincts had learned that trying to wrest control from the gangs ruling streets only led to a short fall into a shallow grave, so they took their bribes and covered their own backs. 

A dark-skinned man with an eye-patch and a long coat strode into the room, glancing idly towards Tony who sat on the side doing his own paperwork. They had installed a small desk so that Tony could work there instead of the accountant’s office upstairs, but more often than not he took over the couches, spreading his sheets over the coffee table and not speaking for hours on end. He showed no discernible interest in the new visitor, but Steve knew that his lover would be listening intently to the conversation. 

The man stopped at Steve’s desk, offering his hand to shake. “Good morning Mr Rogers. I’m Detective Nicholas Fury, recently of Chicago.” He smiled easily, white teeth flashing attractively against dark skin. 

“Detective. It’s quite a ways from Chicago, what draws you to our city?” 

“If I may?” Fury gestured to one of the chairs, and Steve nodded, both sitting. The detective was careful to keep his hands away from the gun at his side, but from the fluid way he moved it was clear that the comfortable spread was a front. Steve would bet that Detective Fury could spring up and defend himself at a moment’s notice. “Well, actually I have an issue that I hope you can help me with. It’s well-known that you’re one of the power players in this region and I have news that a drug that’s been running rampant in Chicago has started spreading into the city a few weeks ago.” 

Steve nodded. That explained why the man had gone to Madame Gao and Luke Cage first. They were the main ones with hands in the drug trade, Gao dealing primarily in opiates such as opium and heroin while Luke focused on cocaine and marijuana, but they both religiously kept track of any strains of drugs that were being created and dealt. If he was looking or information on drugs being sold in the city and was unfamiliar with the area, he would start with their organizations as well. 

“The drug is called Green Flash, it’s a hallucinogen with a potent high but it had the side effect of aggressive outbreaks. Its led to a wild rise in crime rates, people more likely to fight on the streets and even in some cases commit murder over the mildest of issues.”

Steve knew of new drugs on the scene, the injecting of methamphetamines starting only the last few months and whispers of LSD experimenting in military circles, but those effects didn’t sound like the ones Fury was describing. He shrugged.

“I’m sorry to hear that Detective, but I don’t see how that’s my problem.”

Fury shook his head. “You misunderstand. Telling you about the drug was a favour to you.”

At this, Steve rose an amused brow. “How so?”

“The people who commit the crimes experience a type of amnesia after the effects wear off," Fury said, mouth pressed in a displeased line, "completely unaware of the acts they did while under the influence. They don’t even know that they’ve done anything, and the substance is highly addictive so they end up re-offending. Multiple times in some cases until they are caught in the blood-rage and stopped." He smiled humourlessly, eyes dark and serious. "And while I know your organization has a use for violence, these outbreaks will cause chaos at a level that'll be hard to control without large-scale casualties.” 

Steve could see where he was leading. Large enough casualties would destabilize their neighbourhoods, and might even give law enforcement and politicians the excuse they needed to rally against the gangs. Fear of more than one kind of death led people to lose the fear of crossing gang members, ultimately undermining their authority. 

Fury leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees and hands clasped in between spread thighs. “I had a man working on reversing the effects of the drug, trying to counteract the addiction that it causes. But nearly a month ago he disappeared.” He ran his hand over his face. “His name is Dr. Bruce Banner and his lab was here in the city. There’s an ongoing investigation of course, but there’s still no sign of him since we last spoke. I’m hoping that you can help me find him and we could work together to stop the spread of Green Flash.”

Steve leaned back in his seat, head tilted to the side as he examined the detective, turning his words over in his mind. “I’m not sure why a police detective would care so much about this one man or the effects of this one drug. Lots of drugs cause addictions, cause crimes and ruin lives. What makes this one so special? Why come all this way?” 

Fury flashed a careless smile. "I guess this one just caught my attention. But you have my word that I am committed to ending its production if you're worried about my dedication.” 

Steve met the other man’s eyes, deliberating. 

“Fine. Send over what you have and I’ll see what I can do.”

Fury rose and with a nod, left with a dramatic billow of his coat. 

Once the door closed, Tony rose from where he was pretending not to listen and came over to Steve. Gentle fingers tiptoed across Steve’s shoulders and a light kiss was pressed against the back of his skull so he leaned back, pressing his head against the warmth of Tony’s stomach. Tony took it as an invitation to start threading his fingers through Steve’s short strands, scraping lightly with his fingernails and causing Steve to sigh with pleasure. 

“The pirate might be right.” Steve snorted at Tony’s irreverent words. "This is going to be a hot situation. It might get worse before it gets better."

He might not actually stop the flow of the drug, if Fury was right and the revenue was good, the could control the damage if they sold it right. And working with the detective would give him the details of producing the drug without having to expend too many men to get the same information. Even if they couldn’t make a profit, if the detective was right and Steve did nothing, this drug might come to bite them in the ass later. Steve’s main source of money was protection racketeering, getting a dividend from business owners in exchange for keeping their businesses safe from being robbed or attacked. If this so-called Green Flash caused as much crime outbreak as Fury claimed, it would undermine Steve’s authority for crime outside his purview to run wild in his areas. People would lose faith in his ability to ensure their safety and make the conclusion that they could just stop paying. Which would be unacceptable.

A hole like that would invite other members of the six mob lords to offer their own services, giving them a foothold in his territory that once entrenched would be a pain in the ass to reverse. Steve knew that Raphael D’Amiano would love to an opportunity handed to him on a silver platter like that. D’Amiano was the capo of the Italian Mafia, had been there for a long time, and they ran the same kind of operation. And while he controlled a sizable part of Manhattan, the greedy old man was always looking for new ways to expand his territory.

Steve needed to play this carefully. He needed to watch out for D’Amiano, but if he wanted to explore the possible profits of dealing Green Flash he also needed to watch out for the drug lords as well. As a whole, they usually tried to keep each other’s fingers out of the others' pies to avoid conflicts but high profits and high crime rates for a drug was an explosive equation and if they weren’t careful, this had the potential to break out into a gang war.

The last gang war that had broken out was before Steve had taken charge from his predecessor, when the Italians and the Irish had been on the relationship level where it was shoot first, ask questions never. The bloodshed quickly got out of hand, vengeance for dead family members spiralling into increasing death tolls that were hard to put a stop to. So, when James had expanded his business to the level where he was unarguably the most powerful mob boss, he had called the mob leaders to a truce meeting.

They still argued and lied and cheated each other, wouldn't hesitate to kill to defend their territory but they had tried to keep the peace as much as possible. 

"It'll be fine, I'll be careful," Steve promised.

He hopes he won't die regretting those words. 


	3. Chapter 3

James’ day started memorably when Sarah Rogers strolled in bold as brass as he was changing and declared that he was expected at the Rogers family dinner that night at 7 o'clock _sharp_. 

The denial at the tip of his tongue melted when she followed the order with a warm, “I miss you darling,” and a loving smile. “I know things between you and Steve are difficult right now, but it’s not the same without my other son there.” He couldn’t help but smile at her in return, thankful that when Winifred Barnes had passed, he had had the love and support of Sarah Rogers. 

“Couldn’t we have waited to have this conversation when I was at least properly attired, Aunt?” He asked gesturing at his state of undress. Sarah merely rolled her eyes and retorted that her type didn’t run to little boys she’d basically raised before bussing him on the cheek and marching out like a drill sergeant. 

When Dmitri had stumbled in a moment later, James quickly hid his fond smile under a scowl, sarcastically complimenting his second at his less than stellar ability to give his boss a head’s up that there would be an audience to his near nakedness.

Then he ordered a suit prepared for dinner.

Hours later, James shrugged off his jacket as he made his way deeper into the warehouse, needing to take care of some quick business before his appearance at the Rogers' household. He had warehouses scattered all around the city, housing anything from getaway cars to holding cells. This one was one of the firearm armouries. They carried both short and long-range guns, anything from a handgun to sniper rifles as well as their associated magazines. A recent inventory had shown that someone was stealing from his stock over a period of several months.

The numbers weren’t huge, the person trying to be covert in his theft, but included in the missing batch was a few dozen Tommy guns as well as a significant amount of the new AK-47s that were on the black market and a pain in the ass to get a hold of. Furious at the betrayal, he wasted no time and had Dmitri gather up all the men who passed through this location. They were all standing in a group, watching the spectacle taking place in the centre of the building.

The chill from outside seeped in through the walls, the January evening bringing a promise of snow later that night. James could see the mist of his breath as he walked through the shadowy interior. But even with the dim lighting, there was no trouble seeing the man hanging in the space, strung up by his arms. They had narrowed it down to Alek, one of the rotation guards, as the most likely traitor. He wasn’t the one who had been on assigned duty during the times that the shipments had gone missing, but after making some home visits Dmitri had discovered that all the assigned men had gone out drinking the night before their shifts and then became mysteriously ill. Alek had volunteered to take their shifts, claiming he needed the extra money and the shipments had been enough apart that the assigned guards had just been grateful that they wouldn’t be punished for missing their shifts.

Mikhail, one of his enforcers, had hung Alek’s form from the rafters using steel chains. They rattled loudly in the quiet as Alek swung back and forth from the force of Mikhail’s punches, puncturing the silence like a blade. James let the other man exercise his fists a bit, seeing if Alek would give in after a little light treatment. The traitor continued to stubbornly claim that he didn’t know anything.

Alek was sporting a purpling eye and at least three cracked, possibly broken ribs when James stepped up. “Have you had enough?” he said calmly.

The man had coughed and spit some blood aside before pleading, “I promise you, I saw nothing. I just needed the money, so I took the extra shifts. I don’t know who took the guns!” 

James shrugged and then nodded to Dmitri to let the man down. He ignored the sigh of relief the hanging man-made as he was let down, the small smile as the tension in his shoulders was released. That relief quickly shifted to confusion when his arms were held down and tied to a chair. It changed to outright fear when James started walking toward him, knife in a casual hold at his side.

He started pleading before James even reached him, begging and promising and trying to appeal to a sense of mercy. James paid it no mind, just calmly directed Dmitri to hold his head steady. Slowly, delicately, he carved Alek’s left eye out of his skull as the man’s screams pierced through the room, echoing shrilly in the quiet. If he hadn’t seen someone robbing them blind the last three times a part of their shipment went missing, his eyes were of no use to him. 

Hands slick with blood, James grabbed the traitor’s chin. “Tell me the truth or it’s the other eye. Or…” He drew the knife down meaningfully to Alek’s crotch. “We’ll have to move to more valuable commodities.” To which the man started babbling about seeing men in black clothing with a patch of what looked like a red octopus on the side of their chest. He knew nothing else, he swore, they had contacted him by leaving a package and money at his place and they had arranged a drop off after the act. He didn’t think anyone would notice, they went through so many weapons anyway. 

When he was finished, James had stepped back to let Alek see him through his one good eye. “See Alek, that’s where you made the mistake. It doesn’t matter if all they had stolen was a dull, rusted knife.” The coldness in James’ voice made Alek tremble because that’s the point when he realized his life was moot. “You let them steal from _me_ and I don’t take that lightly.” In a fluid movement, James slit his stomach, deftly stepping away as Alek’s insides fell with a wet splat to the floor. Turning back to his audience, he ordered them to bring any whispers they heard of men wearing red octopuses on their chest before dismissing them. Then he left to clean up and get dressed for his evening plans, trusting that Dmitri would see to the disposal of the dead man. He didn’t want fresh blood on his body when he entered Sarah Rogers’ home. It wouldn’t be the first time if he did show up with mysterious stains, but it was more a respect thing. 

James honestly didn’t know what to expect from tonight. He hadn’t felt this on edge at the Rogers house since Joseph Rogers was still rumbling around, liable to start throwing drunken punches at a moment’s notice. He hesitated at the front door, taking a moment to take a deep breath and prepare himself. He hadn’t seen Steve since the last meeting of the Six a month ago and they hadn’t exactly decided to catch up and exchange fond memories. It had been work. James had come in, led the meeting professionally and efficiently and gotten the hell out of dodge.

Polite mask in place, he knocked. Thankfully, Sarah seemed to have given the family prior warning of his presence at dinner because Steve greeted him at the door with a smile and a warm handshake before ushering him inside and taking his coat. James let out a tiny sigh of relief. Hugging the other man would have been too intimate for him right now.

Everyone was gathered in the living room and he spent a few minutes greeting them, which mostly consisted of shaking Tony and little Peter’s hand—he was short for his age, must be a family trait—before letting Sarah hug him to her heart’s content. Seeing the tear she surreptitiously wiped away and her happy smile, he was grateful he had ignored the earlier urge to decline the invite.

Though he would never voice it out loud, he had been afraid that he no longer has a place in the lives of Steve and Sarah anymore, that he may have lost one of the only homes he has left. Seeing the clear love Sarah had for him, James feels a little of that fear ease and some of that old comfort come back. Sure, the last time he was in this house and at a Rogers family dinner he had gotten his heart broken, but this was home. It would always be home.

The dinner itself was a pleasant surprise. In an effort to welcome him back, Sarah had dug around to find the James’ mothers recipe for _borscht_ , a typical Russian soup with meat, potatoes, carrots and tomatoes. The thoughtful gesture lit a warmth within him, another sign that soothed the doubt within him about his place here. The smell of the _borscht_ filled the space, reminding him of countless dinners around the table with his parents and sisters. They were a wild bunch, the Romanov family, and their dinners were always raucous affairs. His sisters’ voices would fill the room, talking loudly about any topic that came to mind, quick to mock, quick to argue, quick to laugh. Now, he was the last one of the six of them left. The reminder caused a tightness in his throat as he savoured the taste of his mother’s soup, remembering those bygone days. 

Luckily, the attention wasn’t on him as he pushed through the nostalgia, the conversation flowing around him in an easy way that didn’t make him feel excluded. 

“Is it the pirate book you were talking about before?” Tony asked, taking a sip of his soup. Sarah was talking to Peter about the equations that he was learning in school since it seemed math was a strength of his. The boy told her that he had already finished his work earlier that afternoon and had plans to start a book after dinner instead, apparently the second in a series. 

James hadn’t seen Tony since their talk, though he didn’t expect to. At least not until he could discuss the arrangement with Steve. He glanced at his childhood friend who was listening attentively to Peter’s recital of the highlights of his book. James was reluctantly charmed by how excited the little boy was in the adventures of his story. He and Stevie had been that way a long time ago, re-enacting heroic scenes from their favourite books. Every time one of them found a really good story they would trade tattered copies so that they both knew the tale, arguing about which was the best part and who each of them would be if they were the characters. They fought nearly as much as they played.

He glanced at Steve again. The blond was still nodding along, but this time his eyes were on James. Feeling a jolt when their eyes connected, James pulled his gaze away and jumped in to pose a question when Peter paused for breath.

“Who’s your favourite character?” 

Peter took a moment to think. “Well…I really like the pirates because they have exciting adventures and great fights with other ships. Plus, they have a pretty noble goal and stand up for freedom and justice. But I think I like the princess assassin the most.” 

“How come?” Steve asked. James glanced helplessly at him again, wanting to see if he was still staring. Only to swallow his disappointed that Steve was focused on his meal, scooping up a spoonful of meat and vegetables. 

“She’s the bravest character in the book,” the boy said decisively. “She’s strong and she wants to protect everyone no matter what. She knew that killing the king was going to be hard and that all the knights would rally to fight her and come after her but she didn’t care. She knew it was the right thing to do and she did it. She kinda reminds me of Tony in that way.” His voice got smaller, more thoughtful, and he fiddled with his spoon. “He was always protecting me, and when dad got really mad…Tony saved me.” The table got quiet as they were all reminded with those sparse words of how the Starks had come to live with the Rogers family to begin with. 

James remembers one of his men coming to him, telling him that he had heard shouting at the Stark apartment. Knowing from Steve and the Stark’s neighbours of Howard’s violence against his son, James had taken off immediately. Running from where he had been finishing business a few streets away, managing the trip in a matter of minutes. But he hadn’t made it soon enough. When he had gotten through the door, he saw Tony slumped on the floor curled around his stomach and with bruises already blooming on his face. He had a moment of fear that he had made it too late, reacting instinctively when he saw Howard preparing for another hit. Moving quickly, he had roughly yanked the man away from Tony as he had aimed another kick towards the boy’s already battered body, slamming him against the wall with a hand on his shirt and a knife at his neck. Ordering Dmitri to get an ambulance on the way, he sent a quick prayer that they wouldn’t be too late to save the boy. Even if he hadn’t already suspected that Stevie had feelings for the younger man, it would have been tragic for Tony to never have a chance to live outside the shadow of his abusive father.

Looking at Tony now, James was glad that the boy had had the chance to know a better life. He was no longer the half-starved, bruised waif that had been inhabiting his hospital for months. He was still lean, but now there was a healthy glow to his skin, a shine to his mahogany curls that tempted hands to stroke. Even James could admit he was attractive under the gobsmacked look on his face at his brother’s declaration. Dark brows, a full lower lip that begged to be bitten, long lashes framing whiskey eyes that were young and old at the same time. Guarded with an intimate knowledge of pain, but still incongruously wide and vulnerable. James could read the tangled mess of emotions Tony felt at the mention of Howard’s abuse, watched as Tony carefully packed it away under a mask.

Curious as to what he would do, James watched as the other brunette reached out and rumpled his brother’s hair.

“Are you saying that I remind you of a girl?!” Tony burst out incredulously, purposefully overdramatic. He slumped over in his chair in a feigned faint, hand resting over his brow. “What a devastating blow. I can’t believe it, such a betrayal from my own blood.” He let out a mournful cry. “I don’t know how I’ll ever recover.” 

Peter started giggling at his brother’s antics, building until he was nearly falling off his chair with laughter. The rest of them joined to, laughing mostly from relief that Peter hadn’t started crying right there at the table, but also at the ridiculousness of Tony’s reaction. The young man grinned at their laughter and just like that crisis was successfully averted.

Despite being envious that Steve was in love with Tony, James couldn’t help but feel a bit of admiration for the young man. As the only male amongst his siblings, James was familiar with carrying the weight of your family on your shoulders. Knowing that it was your responsibility to look out for them and support them the best you could. Then in addition, with having an abusive father on top of that, protecting his brother couldn’t have been easy on Tony. But he had obviously done a good job, hearing of the admiration Peter had for Tony. The love between the two brothers was clear as day, filled with warmth and easy affection. Again, it reminded James of him and Steve, in the days when the other man wasn’t his lover but just his best friend, his brother from another mother, his family. And James was suddenly reassured that eventually, they would be that way again.

Relaxing in his chair, James joined the conversation. “I think it’s a great compliment. When your brother came to see me a few days ago, he demanded to be taught how to fight, threatened to end me right there if I didn’t teach him.” Tony’s face flushed bright red, but James just smiled wolfishly. “He was like this fierce mama cat that was trying to protect its kittens, swiping out with his little claws.” Everyone laughed at Tony’s groan of embarrassment, Peter’s giggles sparking through the air as he repeated ‘mama cat’.

Tony rolled his eyes at James’s teasing. “Great, first I’m a princess and now I’m a cat. Keep piling on the compliments, I’m definitely feeling the love.”

Sarah got up to fetch the dessert, Steve and Tony standing to clear up the table. “So, what kind of fighting is James going to be teaching you, Tony?” she asked.

Tony slid past Steve gathering up the dinner plates, the two of them exchanging fond looks and smiles at the brush of each other’s bodies as Tony made his way to the water pitcher. “He’s going to teach me knife fighting, Aunt,” Tony replied, leaning by James to fill his glass. At his nearness, James caught note of his scent, a sweet richness with a bite to it, like fresh orange zest in cream. He breathed in deep, savouring the taste of it on his tongue before he became aware of what he was doing and stopped.

“I’m also teaching him some boxing, lay ground for the footwork,” James tacked on, digging into his plate of apple pie with vanilla ice cream on the side.

“Oh wow!” Peter gasped out. “That’s so cool! Can I train to be a fighter too?”

“Absolutely not,” Tony answered promptly, sitting. “You’re too young.”

Peter let out an insulted grumble. “I am not too young! Auntie, tell him!”

Sarah reached over to wipe a bit of vanilla ice cream off the boy’s cheek. “Maybe in a few years, bean sprout. Right now, I want you to focus on your studies, okay? There’s more than enough time for fighting later.” 

The boy pouts into his pie. “Yes, Auntie,” he says dejectedly.

Wondering if he was going to regret this and deciding that he probably was, James pulls out one of his knives. It’s a good quality one that’s still in its sheath. Not flashy, but it’s well balanced, well taken care of and had a good grip. A solid choice for a beginner.

“This is one of mine. It’s sharp and is not for playing with,” he warns. He really doesn’t want to be responsible for the boy cutting his fingers off and he sends up a quick prayer that there are no mutilated children in his future. He holds it out for Peter to take, which he does gingerly. “But if you take good care of it, in a few years I’ll teach you how to use it.”

The boy looks at James with awestruck eyes. “Really?”

James nods solemnly to the boy but watches Tony, who looks like he wants to protest, from the corner of his eye. He watches Tony as he scrutinizes his brother, taking in the joy on Peter’s face and the hero-worship in his eyes as he gazes at James. Eventually, Tony just sighs, shaking his head ruefully at the realization that he won’t be able to protect his little brother forever, that one day Peter will have his own drive to fight to protect what’s important to him.

Meeting James’ eyes Tony mouths his thanks, and James feels a small curl of warmth at Tony’s acceptance. Though he knows Tony’s hesitance was at his brother handling a blade and putting himself in danger, James knows it’s also indicative of Tony’s acceptance of him. That Tony is telling him that James is a welcome and accepted part of their lives and _of course_ he would be able to see Peter grow up and become the man ready to handle that blade. That he is family.

Where James walked into this dinner afraid his family was lost, he now realizes that his family hadn’t disappeared or been taken away, it just includes two more members. It won’t be the same as it was, but as James inclines his head in acknowledgement to Tony’s wordless thanks, he opens himself to the possibility of letting the two boys in his heart.

* * *

As dinner comes to an end, Tony makes an executive decision to invite James to his and Steve’s post-dinner debrief. Though the distance had been necessary for the two of them to adjust to the history of feelings that had come to light, it was clear from the way both men carefully stole looks at the other through dinner that they missed each other. Besides, they also had business to discuss. 

When Tony asks James to stay, it’s obvious that what he wants to say is “Hell no,” but he refrains. Tony and James both look to Steve to see what he’ll say, Tony silently urging him to seize the opportunity and not put his foot in his mouth. Thankfully, Steve steps up to offer a drink of the good single malt scotch that he keeps tucked away. It’s James’s favourite and an obvious bribe, but the grey-eyed brunette just rolls his eyes and agrees. 

Tony carefully schools his face as he gathers up the dinner plates to take to the kitchen, trying not to radiate with smug satisfaction. Though it was an underhanded move to foil James’s moment of escape, he’s gleeful about his blatant manoeuvring. Now those two stubborn rhinos will have at least a quarter-hour together alone. Hopefully, in that time they’ll start talking and ease the awkwardness between them and be able to be normal friends again. 

Taking the moment to empty the plates before soaking them in the sink, Tony thinks about the fact that two men didn’t directly talk all night. It probably wasn’t his place to meddle, but that it was painful to see them walk about on eggshells when they were usually so blunt and comfortable around each other. Before James had confessed his love, he was a regular guest at the dinner table and he and Steve had had drinks together every week on top of that—they even had tortured Howard together before presenting him to Tony to finish off. Things for them changed after Tony came on the scene and Tony couldn’t help but feel responsible for the state of their friendship even if rationally he knew it wasn’t his fault.

Steve had told him not to blame himself, but that was hard to hold onto that when he knew that Steve was upset about his broken friendship with James as well. Steve didn’t know how to proceed without pushing James too far, afraid to make any moves unless he lost him forever. So Tony decided that he would meddle just a little bit, just until they got over this hard part of figuring out how to be friends again and he would stop. Because ultimately, he knew that none of them would forgive themselves if something happened again and either Steve or James died without making amends.

“Ack!” Tony lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched noise when he turns around and sees James standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He’s leaning against the frame, leisurely watching Tony with those wolf-eyes of his, hands buried in his pockets. Frozen in place, the only thing Tony can think of is, “You’re not with Steve.” 

Instead of mocking him for stating the obvious—or the noise he made, thank the gods—James just shakes his head. “I thought I could help you clean up since you and Sarah did all the cooking.”

About to automatically protest, Tony bites his tongue when he realizes what James isn’t saying. For him to trade the companionship of one of his best friends, someone who he last saw in a hospital bed, for Tony was a glaring sign that he wasn’t ready to be alone in a room with Steve. So, Tony just swallows his words, smiles and thanks him before they clear out the rest of the wares from the table. 

Together, they make quick work of the dishes, not really speaking except for a “here you go” or a “watch out, behind you.” The quiet is surprisingly soothing rather than awkward and Tony can tell from the set of his shoulders that James has relaxed some. He’s not sure what to do with the discovery that James was able to calm down with him, the interloper, rather than Steve. So, he just pushes the thoughts away to ruminate on for another time and walks briskly to the study. 

Steve greets them with a smile, walking over to offer James a glass of the promised scotch, which he sips immediately. 

“How’ve you been?” Steve asks James, uncharacteristically hesitant. 

James shrugs. “Good. Fine. Busy. You know how it is.” The awkwardness that they thought they’d gotten rid of at dinner flares up again with a vengeance and Tony stifles a sigh.

He heads to the couches to settle down and after a moment they join him. There’s one long couch, framed by two comfortably stuffed armchairs on each side. He takes the right of the couch (because it’s near the chocolate box on the corner table and he has a weakness) leaving space for them to squish together on the left or sit near each other with the left-side armchair. Instead, he ends up sandwiched between with Steve next to him on the couch and James on his right in the other armchair, both men just speaking over his head as he devours chocolates. He wonders with slight exasperation if this is where he’s going to be for the immediate future, in the middle until they can get their shit together. 

Next to him, Steve starts talking about Fury’s visit. As they talk about the information the one-eyed detective had shared, Tony notes that talking about business seems to ease them, the process of falling into a familiar pattern of sharing news comforting them. They must have gotten used to it over the years, using each other as sounding boards for their decisions. Tony doubted they trusted the other mob bosses much, if at all.

Tony himself doesn’t add much to the conversation, taking the time to observe the interaction between the two. James finishes his drink and Steve automatically refills it, not even pausing as he describes how dramatic the detective looked in his eye patch and billowing cloak now that they finished covering the drugs and the missing doctor. “It was like a cross between Dracula and a pirate!” The more they drink, the easier it becomes. James teases Steve about how he used to be afraid of vampires as a kid and how he had freaked out when the first girl to kiss him had started sucking on his neck. 

“That’s not fair! You know all the stories in the old country say vampires are real!” was Steve’s laughing rebuttal. 

“Oh, so do you also believe that fairies are gonna come get you in your bed, Stevie? Take you under the hill to their king?” James mocked. Unthinkingly, Steve launches himself upwards to hit James with a throw pillow. James is surprised into a laugh before he gets up and walks into the open area in front of the coffee table, beckoning Steve with one hand and challenge writ all over his face. Steve immediately follows, a sharp smile on his lips and a glint in his eye. Tony doesn’t move, eyes going from one to the other, unsure if he should step between them. A closer look, however, reveals the loose way their bodies move, as if they’re shaking off the persistent tension between them. They seem to be working out their issues by sparring so he decides to just sit back and watch them go at it. 

Both mobsters shuck off their jackets and vests, tossing them next to Tony. 

“Terms?” Steve asks as he rolls up his shirtsleeves. 

“First pin wins.” James returns, a wicked smile blooming. “And the winner gets a kiss from the princess.” Tony jolts, eyes swinging to Steve whose body has stiffened, eyebrow raising incredulously. The smile doesn’t shift from James’s face and stubborn as Steve is, he could never back down from a challenge.

They stand opposite each other, watching and silent. Tony can feel the tension ramping up in the air, but it’s different than what’s been between them all night. This isn’t awkward and stilted, this is anticipation, sweet with a sharp, bloody edge. Almost before his can blink, they’re moving towards each other like two freight trains and exchanging blows. Steve fakes a hard punch, then steps in to sweep out James’s feet but the James quickly leaps up and dodges. Steve has more brute strength but James has increased agility with his knife fighting experience and uses that to his advantage. When Steve grabs him in a hold, James makes some complicated move that ends up with him in a low crouch rather than flat on the floor and Tony is reluctantly impressed. He’s obviously in favour of Steve winning, but he can’t help but admire the fluid way that James shifts his body like some agile jungle cat. Steve is faster than one would expect of someone of his muscle mass though, and he manages to grab James eventually, pulling him into a firm headlock.

“Yield,” Steve demands, unrelenting as James unsuccessfully tries to push and twist out of the hold.

James merely snorts. “It’s not over.”

He uses his bent-over position to hit Steve in his family jewels, taking advantage of the loosened hold to grab Steve’s arm and twist it behind his back hard, pushing down. Steve struggled against the hold but James just twists harder, forcing the stubborn Irishman to give in or break his arm. “Yield.” Steve huffs but he gives in, making a quip that James responds to, both of them good-naturedly ribbing each other.

“You cheated,” Tony says, shocked, unthinkingly breaking into their joking camaraderie.

“Yea, I did.” James shrugged unapologetically. “But I won. You need to get rid of any ridiculous idea of honour you have about fighting.” He pulled Steve up using the arm he had pinned him with and started walking over to Tony. “You fight to survive. And if that means you use cheap shots, do it. Do whatever it is that will give you an advantage because people aren’t going to go easy on you. They’re going to kill you.” By the end of his speech, he had his arms braced on either side of Tony, cornering him against the back of the couch like prey. Instinctively, in the face of James’ bulk, Tony shifts back, watching James with wide eyes as the taller man took advantage of the movement to duck his head and lean closer. 

“Now, I believe I was owed a kiss,” James says softly, daring. Tony flicked panicked eyes over James’s shoulder to lock with Steve’s. His brows were raised, surprised and confused as to what game James was trying to play. But he nodded to Tony, leaving the choice up to him. 

Tony sucked in a nervous breath as he debates what to do, inadvertently breathing in James’ scent. The Russian smelled of dark woods and cool winds, a scent surprisingly wild and fresh in the polluted crowdedness of their tenement-filled city. It had a hint of spice to it, like a dash of newly ground cinnamon. It was a heady combination that tempted Tony, surrounded as he was by James’ body heat and scent. It made him wonder what it would be like, kissing another man. Nerves buzzed in his gut at the thought, sharpened by the uncertainty of being so _close_ to another when Steve was the only one he had ever been with. With James, the emotional distance between them—the sheer lack of care or affection—led to a greater awareness of how dangerous a man he was. It was completely unlike being with Steve, whose interactions with him were tempered by love. Where he felt safe in the arms of his blond lover, James felt like the edge of a cliff, like nearing a long fall that would shatter him.

Even so, dared by those taunting eyes he rose up, tilting his head back and brushing his lips against James in a chaste little peck. His mind idly noted the softness of the other man’s lips as they slid together, light, teasing. Pulling back a mere inch, he looked at James, wondering if that was okay, wanted to see how he’d react. If it had all been a big joke then Tony had messed up and further crossed boundaries with the Russian lord.

This close, Tony could count each of James’ dark lashes that framed those wintery eyes. They really were beautiful, a stormy blue-grey that shifted with his emotion. Trying to read what James was thinking but unable to, Tony licked his lips nervously. When he finally made to pull back, James slipped his hand to the back of Tony’s neck to grasp it in a firm hold and pressed their lips together again. Surprised, Tony stiffened but when James just kept holding them together and didn’t push further, he slowly relaxed.

Feeling him settle, James ran his tongue lightly along the seam of Tony’s lips, coaxing his mouth open oh so gently. He felt James enter his mouth gently luring his tongue to play with his own. They twined together, hot and wet and tasting of apple pie and chocolate, of sweet, tart deliciousness. Tony got greedy, pressing closer eagerly and sucking delicately at James’ tongue. He had lost all thought, swept away in the rising passion between him and James, forgetting about Steve, about any kind of rivalry or tension between them. Wanting more, his hands rose to bury themselves in James’ hair, fingers happily tangling in James long locks and holding him close. His tongue reached out again to curl sensuously against James’, and a moan escaped at how good it was. 

The sound of his own enjoyment broke him out of whatever trance he was in, and Tony pulled away from James with a gasping breath. Shocked eyes snapped open to stare into his own and he quickly shifted his hands from James’ hair to his chest, pushing him away and creating distance between their bodies. He coughed and cleared his throat, trying to recall some of his previous levelheadedness from before the kiss. He could tell that James was trying to do the same, stepping away, eyes distant and polite mask sliding into place.

Tony’s anxious gaze sought out Steve whose eyes flickered between James and Tony, expression unreadable.

James cleared his throat as he picked up his vest and jacket and proceeded to get dressed, moving in that easy, fluid way of his. “Since I’ve succeeded in kicking your ass tonight Steve and gotten my reward, it’s about time I head out,” he said nonchalantly, trying to smooth over…whatever that was. From Steve’s eyebrows, it was clear he was not convinced.

“I have a meeting with the Black Widow,” James said, looking at Steve meaningfully, “and I’m too afraid she’ll use my balls as target practice to keep her waiting. This is not me giving you an excuse because I had an awkward kiss with the princess.” It was, it absolutely was him running, even Tony could tell him that and his mind was still spinning. But this Black Widow excuse was a good one because Steve nodded in understanding.

James faced Tony. “Meet me at my place, four days from now at 9 pm. We’ll start with your lessons.” He turned to Steve. “You’re not coming.” 

Steve opened his mouth to protest immediately but Tony butted in. “No, he’s right.” He inners were still in turmoil, twisted in confusion and guilt from enjoying James’s kiss but in this, he was determined. “You’d distract me too much and you’re too protective to see me get hurt right in front of you.”

It was clear from the strain in Steve’s jaw that he didn’t want to agree to that at all, but they all knew that it was necessary to let Tony train how he chose to. Tony needed to be able to do this by himself to gain assurance in his own ability because fighting was just as much about developing a mindset as well as the skills. Even if James taught him all the right moves, if Tony didn’t have the confidence and determination to use them, it would be useless. Even though he knew Steve wanted to protect him, this was something Tony had to do without him hovering about, ready to fight his battles for him.

After a moment, Steve agreed. Grudgingly.

Tony stayed on the couch as the two men left, letting Steve walk the James out. Alone, he gave himself one guilty second to press his fingers to his lips, remember the heat of James’ mouth on his…the stroke of his tongue…before shoving it into a box in a corner of his mind and locking it up tight.

 _It was just a game. It didn’t mean anything_ , he reminded himself.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he rubbed his hands on his thighs and tried to erase the feeling of holding the other man close. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you for all the kudos and beautiful comments, whenever I struggle with writing I always go back to them for motivation so thank you for taking the time to say a little something-something. I hope you enjoy this next chapter, let me know what you think!

Steve woke early the next morning. He took a moment to soak in the warmth of Tony cuddled up next to him, face buried in Steve’s chest and curls a tangled nest on his head. He brushed a soft kiss on his head before delicately extricating himself to get ready.

He loved this time of the day when the city slowly woke, sleepy but insistent. When there was the illusion of quiet and calm and he could relish in the knowledge that his family was safe and happy. Suited up, he padded over to wake Peter for school, shepherding the boy to the bathroom as he stumbled along with closed eyes and drool on his cheek. That done, he continued his rounds to the kitchen to buss his mother with a loud smack on her cheek, her laughter following him out the door. He didn’t take breakfast this early, his stomach needing a few hours to wake up, but he did head over to the kitchen at the office for his daily dose of caffeine.

Grabbing a mug, he poured himself a full cup before leaning against the island in the centre of the kitchen to savour his first sips. Unbidden, a moan escapes his lips. God bless Maria Stark for her fancy as shit coffee maker. He can’t believe he lived through the era of dirty dishwasher coffee, this was like ambrosia in comparison.

“Eww man, those are not the sounds I want to be hearing from my boss so early in the morning. Keep your sex noises to yourself and my best friend.” Steve turns to see James Rhodes coming through the door, breakfast ingredients in his hands.

“You lost your right to censor any of my coffee orgasm sounds”—he ignores Rhodes’ gagging—“when I caught you defiling my countertops last week.”

Sam’s laughter announces him as he follows behind his Jamie, hands also full and a wicked grin stretching his lips. “You know what they say, the kitchen is the chef’s kingdom. I was just sampling the delicacies.” He laughs harder at Rhodes’ indignant squawk, unrepentantly grabbing him for a cuddle and getting a smack on the back of his head for his insolence.

Steve rolls his eyes at their antics but his insides are happy at their easy affection for each other. When Rhodes had turned up four months ago, fresh from the army on medical discharge, his eyes had been haunted whenever Tony wasn’t around to distract him from the nightmares in his head. Steve wouldn’t have anticipated this result when Tony had asked him to let Rhodes work as assistant chef, but he had to admit that using cooking as an outlet for his memories was doing the young veteran a world of good. They had talked about it one night over drinks, and Rhodes had shared with shadowed eyes that he felt relief when he could create something new and delicious for someone’s enjoyment. That though he would never regret the actions he had taken to save the lives of civilians and his unit, he had had doubts that his hands would be able to dole out anything other than death.

The passion he had shared with Sam had been an immediate thing, both men sharing a background in the service and trading witty barbs right off the bat. The lack of delicacy Sam had shown had eased Rhodes back into civilian life, softening the defensive tension held in his eyes and body. But no one had anticipated that steady Rhodes would dive right into an explosive sexual relationship with the in-house ruler of the kitchen, let alone that love-’em-and-leave-’em Sam Wilson would want to lay down commitment after a mere month. But three months after deciding to make their relationship as real as it could be in their homophobic world, Sam and Rhodes were in surprisingly domestic bliss.

Soaking in the warmth of their companionship a little longer, Steve eventually made it to his office for some quiet hours of paperwork. Fresh from witnessing the love Rhodes and Sam shared, his mind inevitably turned to the kiss Tony and James shared last night. It had been an unexpectedly erotic sight, watching how sweetly Tony had opened up for James and the gentle way James had held Tony in his arms. Steve knew that James had initially planned to kiss Tony as a way of jerking Steve’s chain. Both to trigger his possessive nature and as an unspoken message that they could move forward from the awkwardness born of their confessions nearly a year ago. James was signalling that he was accepting the fact of Steve moving on to loving Tony, which was all well and good and probably meant they could finally regain their friendship. But it was a message that Steve could admit in the privacy of his mind that he felt torn about.

Steve knew he was the one to tell James that his feelings for him had ended all those years ago, when James had ended their relationship and unknowingly broken Steve’s heart. But.

Though he was probably being unfaithful to Tony for thinking this, it was true that you never fully forgot your first love. The way that the feelings overwhelmed you. And Steve had carried those feelings for a long time, that bud in his chest not fully dying. Because even after they broke things off, in-between lovers (both his and James) they had fallen back into bed again and again over the years. The ease of their relationship and the knowledge of each other’s bodies making for highly pleasurable interludes.

He could feel himself getting hard as those moments played back in his head, the heat of James’ mouth when he swallowed Steve down, the weight of James on his tongue when he returned the favour. Thoroughly distracted now, Steve pushed his chair back from the desk, giving himself space to sprawl as he slouched down a bit more comfortably. His hand reached down to press against his cock as he lets himself sink into the memories burned into his mind. Memories of James’ kisses, the spot on the middle of his back where he was unbearably sensitive, Steve delighting in dragging his lips and teeth and tongue across it as he entered the tightness of James’ body. Teasing and driving James wild as he became increasingly desperate and demanding.

Unbuttoning his slacks, he licked his palm before he took himself in hand, mourning the loss of a smoother slide but not wanting to stain his pants with oil so early in the morning. He didn’t waste too much time, knowing that Dugan would be coming in soon, letting his memories of James meld with his memories of Tony and thinking of the way they were twined together so briefly last night. He got an illicit thrill at thinking of his past and present lovers together, a thousand images in his mind of the way they would look together as Tony lost his mind in James’ hands. When Steve was with James, it was always a fight for dominance, each enjoying topping even from the bottom. It was playful and sometimes aggressive, but always so good. They liked to be ridden hard when it was with each other, but with Tony, Steve had gotten to explore a new side of himself. Tony lost himself in a way that Steve had never seen before with a lover, became dazed and sweetly obedient as he rode the high of his pleasure higher and higher. The trust of their relationship let him float in a place where he didn’t feel like he had to be on alert to protect himself or his brother, something Steve knew was a rare state for Tony after years of abuse from Howard.

His breath hitched at thinking of Tony going all soft and hazy in James’ hands, and the gentle way James would handle Tony as he sucked pleasurable bruises all over Tony’s skin, marking him possessively. Or the way James would lounge back against the pillows like a king to be serviced, coaxing Tony on his knees over him for a long, slow ride.

He stroked himself harder, close to the edge but not quite there. Tony would look so pretty riding James, lightly muscled back curved as he rode with his head thrown back, hips undulating as he took his pleasure at James’ urging. His mind went further, supplying images of James rearranging Tony on his hands and knees on the bed, still thrusting as he tugged Tony’s head up with a light pull on his hair. Tony looking up with heavy-lidded whiskey eyes, drunk on pleasure as he reaches up to pull Steve to him and take him in his mouth. Steve falls over the edge, imagining spilling into Tony’s mouth as James spills into Tony’s ass, pulling the taller brunette for a biting kiss over their shared lover.

The door clicks as the handle is turned and Steve jerks up, grateful for the heavy barrier of the desk. He both relaxes and tenses as Tony slips inside the room on quick feet, smiling automatically back even as his gut churns with guilt over fantasizing over James, reality coldly quashing any possibility of sharing Tony between them. Tony only recently came to the realization of his sexuality and though willing to try new things with Steve, Steve had serious doubts that that adventurous nature would extend to sharing a lover.

Tony came forward to claim a kiss, curious eyes at Steve’s stiff posture widening as he took in Steve’s dishevelled appearance. Before Steve had time to do more than open his mouth to explain, Tony was slipping into the space between Steve and the desk. Steve watches as Tony kneels between his open thighs, mischievous eyes on Steve’s as he reaches to take Steve’s cum covered hand in his own and bring it to his mouth. Steve groaned as Tony applied wet suction to his fingers and nibbled on the vee between his thumb and his pointer. His clever tongue sought out every trace of cum and Steve greedily pressed his thumb against that tongue, stroking it as he held Tony’s mouth open to see the way that his cum pooled near Tony’s throat before he swallowed it down. Leaning down, Steve licked into Tony’s mouth, sharing his own taste with dirty satisfaction.

He bit Tony’s plump lower lip as he pulled away, watching as Tony ducked back down to give his cock the same treatment he had given Steve’s hand. Mind flashing back to his fantasy, he felt his cock give a valiant twitch as he basked in the reality of the moment that pushed him over. Leaning back, he gave himself over to Tony’s eager mouth and hands as they cleaned him up, only pushing away when it got to be too much. Letting Tony put him away and close his slacks, he pulled the smaller man onto his lap, feeling happy and sated.

He ran his hand up Tony’s back as he lost himself in Tony’s lush mouth, enjoying the way that Tony shivered at the light, teasing touch before pressing closer. He cupped Tony’s own erection, thumbing at the head of his cock as his lips wandered lower to kiss along a smooth jaw and the column of his throat. Nipping a bite low enough to be covered by Tony’s collar, Steve pulled away a little to look at Tony’s face.

“Do you want to continue?” he asked with a pointed squeeze.

Aiming a quick glance at the clock on Steve’s desk, Tony sighed dejectedly before shaking his head. “We only have a couple minutes before Dugan comes in.” He dropped a kiss on Steve’s lips before pulling back with a grin. “You’ll just owe me later.”

Steve chuckled as he pulled Tony in for more cuddles, stroking his hands along the body in his lap in an effort to soothe Tony’s unfulfilled desires. It calmed him, holding Tony like this. They didn’t need to speak, soaking in the comfort of each other’s touch in a way that wasn’t sexual, just loving. When Dugan came in as expected, he shook his head and sighed at the portrait of them but didn’t say anything. Tony greeted him with a smile as he made his way to the lounge area of the office that he claimed as his workspace, situating himself and getting to work. Steve watched him lose himself in numbers and equations with fondness before buckling down with his own work, the calm from their moment staying with him and advancing his productivity as he reviewed documents.

They continued this way for several hours before Dugan announced that the people he had scheduled for the troop trainer position had all arrived. Dropping a kiss to Tony’s lips, he reminded him to take a break to eat before heading down to the basement where he met with Sam and Happy. Happy was James’ trainer and Steve had convinced James to lend him when Steve had walked him out after dinner.

Steve was looking for skill in his new trainer, but after Falsworth, he knew he needed someone who would be loyal even if he didn’t agree with Steve’s gay lifestyle. Therefore, he planned on letting each man go against each other, examining their skills alongside Sam, Dugan and Happy, before pairing them up with a partner and having them fight against Sam and Happy. Happy was highly trained, but he was a heavier, more traditional fighter. Sam, in contrast, was lighter and liked to get creative with his fights and similar to James in his willingness to fight dirty if he needed to. Together, they were a formidable combo and would pose an appropriate challenge to these tryouts.

Watching his friend, Steve mourned the fact that Sam was too happy in the kitchens to give up his love full time to train the men, otherwise, they wouldn’t have to go through with all this. Steve had tried to convince him with everything he thought of to sweeten the deal but had gotten the same negative in response. So here they were.

Dugan did good work. It was obvious that each fighter was at the top of their game, so it quickly became a game amongst the judges to pick apart the styles, strengths and weaknesses of each candidate. There was a wide variety that came from long study and training, Steve picking out jujitsu techniques in some, savate in others, even Kalarippayattu (and old Indian fighting style) in one. Steve could see potential in Fredrickson, Hunt and Nolan. They were skilled in various techniques and already members, which would be a benefit since it meant Steve wouldn’t have to carefully screen them the same way he would a new addition.

In the end, however, the standout ended up being Thor Odinson. Though he wasn’t the most technically skilled fighter of the bunch, he was well-trained and battle-honed. His style was upfront and instinctual rather than the studied complexity used by some of the other participants, and he moved naturally and fluidly. But the reason he stood out was because he was the only one out of the pair fights that abandoned his own win to jump in and defend his partner from a pin. Steve trusted his gut when it decided that this was the man he could rely on to have his back and to train his members to have his back too.

He wouldn’t announce anything today, Dugan had more people lined up for him to test over the next few days but Steve knew his mind would be comparing the others he met to Odinson. Deciding to test his feeling, he, Happy, Sam and Dugan made the rounds after the fights, talking to each of the trainers for a bit. They were good guys for the most part, though Rumlow rose some red flags.

Odinson turned out to be a very different kind of surprise.

Steve didn’t bother with subtlety. “Why did you throw away your win? You could have incapacitated Happy while Sam was busy with Rumlow and then taken the reprieve from a double attack to incapacitate Sam and win. Rumlow hadn’t shown the same care for you.” No, Rumlow taken Odinson’s sacrifice and ran with it to the finish line. He had used the momentum of Sam focusing on taking down Odinson, finishing off Sam with a hit from behind and then rushing Happy who hadn’t fully recovered from being winded by Odinson.

Odinson gave Steve a shrewd glance, “I don’t believe winning was actually the goal of the exercise.”

“No?”

The Nordic man crossed his arms across his thick chest. “Winning alone means nothing if everyone around you gets killed. We’re here to help you integrate new members into a team and make sure they work together efficiently, make sure your men not only protect themselves but each other. That won’t work if they’re all just looking out for themselves. Or worse, trying so hard to be impressive that they have to get saved.” He said the last bit with an eye-roll in Rumlow’s direction. No love lost there then.

Steve suppressed his grin, nodding and moving on to the next fighter. He had his man.

* * *

“ _Winter, the boy is here._ ” James waved to let Dmitri know to bring Tony—no, Stark, he needed to remind himself not to get too attached—in and he left without comment. James had been in a mood all day, unusually snappish and irritable. And he refused to believe it was because of the young man walking through the door who was just shy of 20 years old. Someone much too young to have any kind of effect on him. Not to mention that the boy was _Steve’s_. This whole thing was becoming ridiculous. What he had started out as a game to just mess with Steve and his young paramour had ended up blowing up in his face. But. At least it was just sexual, some negligible attraction probably born from messing with someone who was with Steve.

They’d shared lovers before, just no one that meant anything. Beautiful, nameless one night stands discretely arranged by Natasha’s all-seeing eye that were pleasurable but easy to walk away from in the morning.

Thinking about the people easily walked away from made something chill inside of him and James embraced that cold, let it spread. When Stark walked in, James didn’t bother with a greeting, simply rising and barking out a brisk, “Follow me.”

He idly noted how Stark’s face shuttered at the coldness of James welcome, hiding the hesitant nervousness that had been writ plain on his features. James led the way to the fighting ring housed in the lower basement, three floors down from his office. The mid basement had a shooting range and the higher one had meeting rooms for some of his more paranoid contacts.

Dmitri met them there, hands already wrapped and a fresh roll in his hands that James took.

Nodding his thanks, he pulled Stark to him and lifted his hands. “Watch. You’ll have to do this for yourself next time.” Making sure Stark’s eyes were on his movements, James took his time wrapping the other man’s hands to protect his knuckles.

That done, he gestured to the ring. “A huge part of successful knife-fighting is footwork. You have to be quick on your feet, able to dodge and weave when someone is coming at you. Even while you defend yourself, you have to learn to simultaneously pick apart the openings in their movement and their form, finding the spaces to step in with your own attacks. The best thing to teach you that is boxing, so right now, we’ll start with Dmitri. Any questions?”

Stark’s warm brown eyes were wide and terrified at the quick recitation, revealing his alarm before he seemed to gather his determination. James noted how his hands were clenched into tight fists, but the younger man went into the ring, ducking and entering without hesitation. Dmitri shared a look with James, eloquently conveying his doubt but he also obediently went.

It became abundantly clear that Stark had very little skills whatsoever. Dmitri moved much slower than usual, and while Stark did dodge some hits, his body was stiff and uncomfortable. Dmitri aimed hits in what seemed like a random fashion to Stark’s inexperienced eyes, but James saw the calculation in the different levelled hits. It gave James good context to see Stark hit by multi-levelled attacks, observe how he was more likely to be able to block a mid-range hit to his core or chest than a low-level hit to his legs. Sideways movement wasn’t too bad, but he didn’t know how to move backward without stumbling and seemed to have only some awareness of his surroundings. Stark’s surprise was clear on his face when he stepped back to avoid a hit and felt himself hit the ropes, causing him to glance behind him instinctively. Turning back to find a fist heading towards his face, James watched as surprise turned into pure terror and Tony reacted in a full-bodied flinch, arms rising in a desperate bid to protect his head.

Dmitri immediately backed off but Tony didn’t move, body trembling and panicked breathing audible in the silence. Fuck. He was having a panic attack.

James moved swiftly, ordering Dmitri to get some water as he moved into the ring, shrugging off his jacket and draped it across Tony’s trembling shoulders so he could be warmed by the fabric and residual heat. He very gently pulled Tony into a loose embrace that the young man could break if he needed to but would provide warmth and stability as he struggled to emerge from the nightmares in his mind.

James eased Tony down to the floor and pushed his head between his knees, rubbing his back soothingly. He pulled an arm still raised defensively and placed it over his chest, tapping a finger on it that echoed the beat of his heart. “Come on, Tony, that’s it, just breath for me. That’s a good boy, yes, just like that, deep breath in, let it out now, slowly, mhmm, very good, yea just follow me, do you hear that?” James continued to murmur soothing to the man in his arms, letting him rest his head heavily on his shoulder as he concentrated on breathing.

_I should have expected this_ , he reprimanded himself. His mind flashed back again to the first day he met Tony, saving the young man as he was beaten brutally from his father. God, Tony was just like Steve and him, all of them united with legacies of abusive fathers, and he should have known that fighting would bring up horrible memories for him and overwhelm his mind. James hadn’t had it as bad in comparison, his own father only drinking near the end, right before the accident. And even then, he and Steve had had each other to hold them up and see them through the tough nights. Tony had a brother to protect and no one to protect him.

Giving up trying to remain distant from Tony, he stroked his hand through the other’s hair and down his back in long motions, offering comfort, offering safety. Slowly, gradually, Tony allowed himself to be consoled, relaxing enough to breathe easily. Lifting his face from where it was resting on James, he pulled away, eyes avoiding James as he struggled to gather his shields. Intimately aware with avoiding people who’ve seen your vulnerabilities, James touched one finger to Tony’s jaw, tilting his head to meet his eyes with Tony’s haunted ones.

“Hey—”

Tony immediately interrupted, voice contrite. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—”

“I’ll do better next time. I promise. Just, don’t—please don’t give up on me.” James could see the self-flagellation starting to begin and he was quick to cut it off.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.” When Tony opened his mouth to butt in, James glared. “I’m going to kiss you again if you don’t shut up. And believe me, Steve wouldn’t even mind if he knew it was to stop whatever stupid self-blame that was about to come out of your mouth. So shut it before I shut it for you.”

Tony gaped at the threat but at least for now, he was too shocked to continue whatever toxic cycle was rolling in his head. Mission accomplished.

“Good. What I was saying was that this was my fault. I should have known better than to put a traumatized kid,” he snorted at Tony’s disgruntled expression, “in the ring without easing him in it first. Don’t worry,” at this, he softened his voice, “I’m not going to give up on you. We might have to go a bit slower and watch out for your triggers but we can do this. I can still train you and you’ll still be able to protect yourself and your loved ones.”

“Yea?” James felt his heart twist at the wet, hopeful look in Tony’s eyes. Damn, this boy was dangerous, no wonder Steve couldn’t say no to him.

“Yea.” Trading smiles with Tony, he rose to his feet, extending a hand to help him up. His mind noted the softness of Tony’s palms after nearly a year of little manual labour and he sighed, mourning the loss of that softness in the near future.

Catching himself for those ridiculous thoughts, he shook it off and led Tony back upstairs where Dmitri met them in the hallway.

“ _I took the liberty to prepare some food in the living room for the young man to eat if he desires, Winter._ ” He informed him in Russian. _“It might do him some good to have something warm in his stomach_.” Reminded once again of why Dmitri was his second, James clapped him on the shoulder and smiled, giving his thanks before letting his friend go eat his own dinner.

A couple of bowls of a rice stew waited for them in the living room, positioned on the coffee table with a couple of glasses and a pitcher of water. It was simple fare, fragrant and filling without being too heavy.

Dmitri knew that James sometimes liked to take his meals here, able to relax against the cushions of the couch easier than at his empty dinner table. James walked over to the arched windows, pulling down the heavy drapes on top of the gauzy ones to block any direct views from passersby or would-be assassins both. Then he made his way to the marble fireplace, kneeling in front to stack wood and tossing in a match to create a fire to warm the cold room. That done, he settled into the armchair, letting Tony take the couch and pouring them both some water. The shaken man smiled in thanks before digging in ravenously. They ate in silence for a bit, both too concentrated on their stomachs to talk. Eventually Tony sat back, leaning his head against the backrest to gaze at the ceiling and cradling another glass of water between his knees, raising it to his lips every now and then. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Tony turned his head on the cushions, looking at James curiously.

“For letting you get triggered like that. Steve trusted me to look out for you and I did a shit job of it. I’m sorry.”

Tony just looked at James, soft honeyed eyes examining him before he sat up. “I’ll forgive you if you answer one question.” He waited for James’ agreement before speaking. “The kiss…” he paused, considering what he wanted to ask before blurting out, “Is that normal?”

James’ eyebrows came together in confusion at Tony’s question. “Is _what_ normal?”

“The feelings.” Tony seemed to have pushed the words out through force of will and red flooded his cheeks. “It’s just, Steve is my first and I didn’t think I would feel anything, for anyone _other_ than him because I love him.” His words held a combination of worry and fear and James realizes that enjoying their kiss had frightened Tony. He was worried that it meant he was a bad partner, no awareness that sometimes skill could cause pleasure just as much as feelings.

James ignored the voice in his head that reminded him that it wasn’t skill that made him lose _himself_ , or forget that the kiss was a ploy to mess with Steve.

That voice could fuck off.

“Listen, sweetheart,” he said rising and pulling Tony to his feet and into his arms. Tony’s eyes widened comically at the endearment and James’ closeness, but he was curious and waited to see what James would do. James’ mind spun with the knowledge of Tony’s innocence, even after months of being with Steve. “I’m going to teach you something, okay?” He kept his voice soft and questioning, and Tony gave a hesitant nod.

James stroked a hand up Tony’s back the way he had before, when he was soothing him. The movement relaxed him the same way this time that it had then, so James took it a step further, squeezing the nape of Tony’s neck with his hand. He dug the pads of his fingers into the muscles there, applying firm pressure and massaging into Tony’s skull. Tony went pliant, eyes fluttering in pleasure and mouth opening in a moan. James was amazed at how sensitive he was, how eager he was to drop at a pleasurable touch.

Unable to resist, James brought up his right hand and dragged his nails lightly up the side of Tony’s neck, inwardly delighting in his responding shiver. He dropped the hand massaging Tony’s nape and curved the arm around his waist, using the other hovering by his neck to cup his head and pull him closer until there were mere inches between their lips.

“Tony, look at me,” he murmured, soft words landing lightly on Tony’s lips as he tilted his head under James’ direction. He followed so sweetly that James had a moment’s envy for Steve. Honeyed eyes met his as Tony hmmed a questioning noise.

“This feels good, doesn’t it? Being held by me?” There was a dazed blink before the words seemed to filter in and the fog started to clear up in Tony’s eyes. Hurriedly, panicked hands rose to press against James’ chest, preparing to push away. James buried his hand back in Tony’s curls and resumed massaging Tony’s nape, quieting him and trying not to feel the thrill that went through him at Tony’s acquiescence. Knowing he had to be careful not to push Tony over the edge, he eased back just enough to squash the rising guilt and panic he could see in Tony’s eyes.

“It’s okay,” James soothed, watching as Tony’s eyes flickered from one eye to the next. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” He kept stroking lightly, waiting for Tony’s tentative nod. “But here,” he untangled his hand from Tony’s soft hair to press against his heart, “it doesn’t feel the same, does it?” Tony’s forehead crinkled in confusion and James laughed.

“Close your eyes.” He obeyed. “Now, think about Steve, and think about Steve touching you, his hands replacing my own.” The crease eased a bit but James saw that he still didn’t fully understand, thinking rather than _feeling_ the memory of Steve’s touch. He brought his mouth close to Tony’s ear as he continued speaking, each breath a tantalizing brush that made Tony sensitive to every point where their bodies connected.

“Think about him, the way he holds you against him, his hands caressing your body, his lips on yours…Touching you, surrounding you,” his voice went even lower, “ _inside_ you.” Tony gasped and his eyes opened wide.

“You get it now, don’t you? I can please your body but Steve, it all means more just because it’s him. Because you love him.” And with that, he stepped back, walking with studied casualness to his armchair and dropping down, crossing his ankle over his knee.

“Okay _mal’chik_ , it’s getting late so get out of here before Steve comes hunting you down.”

Tony seemed frozen in place, body still trembling. As James watched, he blinked a few times like a dreamer waking from sleep before sucking in a deep breath and pulling himself together.

“What does that mean?” Tony cleared his throat, words coming out less choked sounding. “That word you call me.”

James laughed. “Gay boy.”

Tony’s eyebrows rose. “Wait, but you called me that before I got together with Steve. How did you know I liked men before I did?”

“You were obvious.” James rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure there was drool when you so much as looked at Steve.”

Tony blushed again but he didn’t shy away. “I was eager for a taste.” Pink tongue flickered out to lick his lips illustratively and James had a vision of Tony swallowing Steve down just as eagerly as he enjoyed a massage, almost groaning out loud at the stab of lust he felt.

Fuck. Someone should not have the right to be so innocent and lusty at the same time, it was messing with James’ head. He probably needed to get himself a new lover. Someone who didn’t have blond hair and Irish skin or—god forbid—soft curls and a lithe body.

With a last grin, Tony left with Jeremy the driver as an escort and James relaxed in his chair, catching the scent of Tony on his clothes when he moved, that distinct blend of oranges and cream. Conflicted, he reflected how in one evening, Tony became Stark became Tony and James had the sneaking suspicion there was no going back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all for the support, I love hearing what you have to say! Also warning about period-typical attitudes here, as well as more mentions of Tony's abuse in line with what we've seen so far. Take care of yourself if you need to. Come find me @thevengeanceuniverse on Tumblr if you wanna say more :D

It’s a beautiful Tuesday. Unseasonably warm for a March day in the city, with a bright blue sky touched with the barest brush of wispy white clouds. And on this beautiful day, Tony was stuck up on a tree, dangling 10 feet off the ground with uncomfortable bark digging into sensitive areas. All because of one snarky little menace.

It had been a couple of months since he had waltzed into James Romanov’s office to make his deal and things were going okay so far. They had some bumps along the way since that first time, instances that forced Tony to come to terms with the reality that a lifetime of abuse wouldn’t be overcome with sheer stubbornness. Which didn’t mean he stopped trying.

But then memories of drunken footsteps would pound their way into his head, followed by the remembrance of split lips, bruised arms and welts on his back. Remembrances that felt so real, they had healed areas aching all over again. It was a hard lesson to learn, coming to terms with the vestiges of his trauma. Knowing that there was nothing he could do that would just put a stop to the phantom pains or the nightmares. He had a lifetime of learned behaviours from his abuse that wasn’t going anywhere soon and it would take time for his brain to recalibrate.

Even when he logically understood that, frustration welled bright and bitter every time he panicked, and he hated Howard anew for affecting him this deeply even after death.

Thankfully, James was good on his word. He checked with Tony before every session, making sure he wasn’t going to flash into a panic attack the moment they started. If Tony was feeling even a little bit iffy, James ran him through breathing exercises, teaching Tony how to pack up his trauma and put it away for later. It wasn’t a cure—not even close—but it gave Tony the compartmentalization skills he needed to move forward. To get into a mental zone where he could focus on his body’s movement and countering attacks instead of being overwhelmed by fear. And every time he practiced, Tony could feel himself do it just a fraction of a second faster.

It was a similar kind of zone Tony felt when he was concentrating hard on complex equations. Like everything became quiet and his senses were more amplified, everything a little sharper. Tony couldn’t stay in the zone too deeply yet, snapping out of it too easily sometimes, but there was progress. He was getting faster, fighting better, hitting harder.

After the hours in the ring, Tony and James sat down for a light dinner, the one they had the first time acting as a precedent for their meetings together. They spent time discussing how training went, Tony asking questions and James giving critiques or advise as needed. It was nice. Things were civil between them, James keeping things casual the moment they stepped out of the ring and they never got more intimate than that.

They didn’t talk about the intimacy of that first session, but Tony wasn’t uncomfortable with that. Strange as it was, it felt like that moment had been more about reassurance rather than seduction. Like James had wanted to teach him a lesson and that was it.

Considering the lesson had been about the depth of feeling the heart could grant sex, as well as knowing the way James had felt about Steve, Tony was confident that James had no real desires for him. Honestly, after months of James treating him like he was infected with the plague, Tony was grateful things were working out as pleasantly as it was. If Tony had a panic attack, James never hesitated to offer comfort or help him get his breath back, but that was as intimate as it got. Both brunettes had reached a truce and slowly, but surely, becoming friends.

Which brought him back to today.

With Rhodey working for Steve, Tony got to see his platypus on a regular basis, a drastic change from when he was in the army. Even when he was being all gross and lovey-dovey with Sam, Tony delighted in seeing how openly happy Rhodey was.

The prominence of his honeybear time reminded Tony of the lack of Pepper in his life since he started training with James. They had still kept in contact, exchanging letters though they couldn’t meet in person. Tony was concerned, however, because Pepper was being suspiciously closemouthed about the new job that’s been keeping her so busy, not even sharing who she was working for. Naturally, he had written her again, asking to meet while also shamelessly bribing her with an opportunity to see Peter (who she doted on as much as her own siblings). Deciding on a place and time, he had announced to Steve that he was leaving early for the day and made his way to the park.

Tony and Peter got there first, picking out a place on the grass to spread their blanket and situate themselves. Quarter-hour later, Pepper was walking up to them in a light blue dress with a bow neckline, a golden-brown haired boy hanging onto her with a rather proprietorial hold on her hand.

Peter took off before Tony even got off the ground, jumping to hug Pepper as if they had been separated for decades rather than a few months.

Rolling his eyes, Tony followed at a more sedate pace, leaning in to hug one of his closest friends when Peter finally stopped hanging like a monkey. It probably wasn’t appropriate for them to be this affectionate in public, but Tony had long stopped caring about propriety so he savoured the moment of being close to one of the few people he trusted growing up. Steve was fantastic, but no one was ever going to know him the way that Pepper and Rhodey did, having been there to put him back together in the days after the beatings. Even if they couldn’t help in the moments when it happened.

Pulling away, Tony peeked at the little person next to Pepper, taken aback when he met dark blue eyes glaring holes into him. Turning around fully, he was met with a mild expression that looked practiced, but also vaguely familiar. There was no glare in sight as Pepper introduced Harley, her charge for the day. Tony held out his hand for a handshake, which the child returned with the utmost decorum as if he met with adults to discuss business on the regular.

Amused by the precocious child, Tony stepped aside for Peter to greet the other boy with a wide grin. “Hi, I’m Peter Stark. Do you wanna play a game?” In comparison to Peter’s open rambunctiousness, this child seemed downright solemn. But with a glance at Pepper for permission, he ran off agreeably enough.

Tony led the way to their blanket where he and Pepper made themselves comfortable on the cushions she had thought to bring. They covered the basics, isn’t it a great day, how was the family, blah blah blah before Tony couldn’t hold it anymore and blurted out, “What is this job that you keep hinting at but never talk about? Is it a factory job or secretary job or something?”

Pepper laughed. “Wow, Tony, you held out for a full three minutes.” She paused to take a deep breath. “Truthfully, I haven’t really told anyone about my new job because I didn’t want them to judge my decisions.” Tony raised his brows at her at this statement.

Pepper never did anything people would judge her negatively for, she knew exactly how to toe the line to get what she wanted without alienating herself. Seeing the way she pressed her fingers against each other in a clear sign of nerves, Tony felt worry spark in his gut, mixing sourly with guilt. He had been so caught up in his own major life changes that he hadn’t been attentive to much else outside of that.

“The reason I couldn’t see you a lot was because I’ve actually been working nights now.”

Tony pushed aside his worry and forced out a teasing grin. “Have you been selling your wares on the street corners, Miss Potts?”

“No!” Laughing at her exasperated expression, Tony choked on his spit when she followed that with, “I’ve been working at a brothel.”

“WHAT?” Eyes widening, Pepper slapped a hand over his mouth and shushed him.

“I was joking about you being a prostitute, Pepper, what the hell are you doing working in a brothel?” He lowered his volume, but his tone was still disbelieving, unable to fathom that lady-like Pepper Potts was working in a whorehouse.

Strangely blasé now that the truth was out, Pepper just rolled her eyes. “I’m not a prostitute, you dolt. I’m an assistant for a woman at the brothel, though sometimes it feels more like a babysitter.” She pointed to Harley, climbing the monkey bars with Peter in the distance. “That’s her son. Harley Romanov.”

Tony choked again. Pepper was really turning out to be a hazard to his health. “James Romanov has a son?” No wonder that mild expression was familiar.

Tony had never seen a sign of a child at the residence, never even heard James—or Steve for that matter—mention any children. But James was a notoriously secretive man, so how much could Tony really know after only two months of knowing each other?

Pepper’s eyes lit up with curiosity at the mention of Jame—she had neglected to tell her about his training, but she knew he was a part of Tony’s life through Steve—but she let it go for the moment. “I’m not really sure about the situation. He’s private so I’ve never been around when they interact.”

Something twisted his insides at the thought of James having a son with someone, but this wasn’t the time to delve into those feelings— _never_ would be the right time—and Tony focused on what else Pepper had to share. “What’s she like?”

Unexpectedly, Pepper blushed. Which was immediately obvious with her fair skin tone, bringing her closer to her nickname namesake. Curiosity further piqued, he listened as Pepper stumbled through an explanation of this mysterious woman’s attributes. After the third mention of how intelligent she was, how graceful, how beautiful, Tony finally caught on to what Pepper wasn’t saying.

“You’re _in love_ _with her_ …” Voice sounding incredulous to his own ears, he watched as Pepper uncharacteristically fumbled for her words.

Giving up, she ran a hand through her long strawberry locks, momentarily looking lost. “I do love her,” she finally admitted. “I love the way she manipulates politicians to get what she needs to help the people around her. Prostitutes are so vulnerable yet everyone in that brothel feels safe and taken care of because of her actions. She’s vicious when it comes to protecting her own and I don’t even hate her when I know for a fact that some of the people who leave our brothel never actually make it home.”

She looked out at the grass, smiling at the way Peter and Harley had banded together with a group of kids to play some game that involved a lot of running, screaming and the names of different kinds of fruit. “I love the way she is with Harley, kind and attentive and always wanting the best for him. She’s a good mother. I know she would die before she let anything happen to him. She just wants him to be happy, to have a good childhood.” Pepper turned to face Tony, breath catching. “Gods, Tony, I feel so much for her and she doesn’t see me as anything other than the ‘best assistant’ she’s ever had.”

She took a deep, steadying breath, letting it out in a sigh.

“I’ve never felt _anything_ like this before. I haven’t felt this way for anyone I’ve ever met before, not even Paul, and I was going to _marry_ him. It makes me so scared sometimes, the depth of what I feel for her because people would hate me for feeling that way for her. You know, you’ve seen how they demonize anyone who feels for someone of the same sex the way that we do.” Tony put a comforting hand on her shoulder, understanding that she was thinking of the way her brother was treated. How he became a pariah almost overnight and had been kicked out of their home and neighbourhood, beaten bloody by the same people who had claimed to love him.

Tony reached out to pull her into a hug, letting her bury her face in his neck and not commenting on any wetness he might have felt there. He could empathize fully with her fear, knowing that people’s hatred was a fearsome thing that galvanized them to commit horrific acts. The kindest of neighbours could turn into the cruellest of tormentors, justifying their oppression and terrorism with nonsensical beliefs that villainized the victims of those hate crimes. It was horrible, feeling like everything you loved could be torn away in the blink of an eye by someone who didn’t even feel their actions were wrong. Knowing this was something that would take Pepper time to come to terms with, he just held her, letting her body tremble apart with her emotions and then build herself back up as she chose.

Over her shoulder, he saw Peter shouting something to Harley, who waved back and kept playing, before heading over with a grin on his face. His face became confused as he got closer, grin dropping.

“Is Pepper okay?” Tony heard Pepper’s breath hitch at the sound of Peter’s voice, knowing she wasn’t ready to be strong yet for the sake of the child.

Tony smiled softly at him, not wanting to worry Peter more than he was already. “Yea, _cucciolo_ , she’s fine, just a little sad.”

“Oh, okay.” Peter nodded uncertainly before looking toward her. “Do you want to get some ice cream with me, Pepper? Auntie gave me some extra pocket change when she heard we were going to the park.”

Letting out an amused, and snotty, huff Pepper pulled away, taking the handkerchief Tony offered to dry any remaining wetness. Enough of her equilibrium restored, she rose and held out a hand for Peter to take. Which he did, gleefully.

Tossing a “Look after Harley for a bit,” over her shoulder, they were on their way to pick up some ice pops.

Reminded of the other boy, Tony scanned through the park, heart leaping to his throat when he couldn’t see Harley anywhere. Looking for one of the rugrats he saw playing with the 7-year old, Tony asked if she had seen Harley and then headed towards the big oak tree she pointed at. Not seeing him near the base, he looked in the branches and let out a loud “Shit” when he got pelted with acorns.

Stepping out of range quickly, Tony called out to the boy sequestered among the leaves.

“Harley, what are you doing? Stop that and come down here, please.” And there was the glare. Harley sat in the tree red-faced with tear streaks on his cheeks, his eyes trying to burn holes into Tony’s skull.

“No! I’m not going anywhere with you! What did you do with Pepper? I won’t let you hurt her!” More acorns rained down, Harley adjusting his aim to throw farther. When did he collect so many?

Putting up his arms to block the projectiles, Tony was thoroughly confused as to why the kid would hate him. They had barely talked, the Harley and Peter spending the majority of the last two hours running off to play games while he and Pepper talked on the grass.

Oh. Pepper. With whom Harley had been spending a lot of time with and had been holding tight to when they had arrived at the park.

Quickly piecing it together, Tony thought about what his interactions with Pepper would have looked like to the young boy. Hugging her in greeting, talking and laughing with her before then holding her close in what would have seemed like an intimate embrace. To the random passersby, they would have looked like a couple in love. To a young boy in love, Tony would’ve been seen as a rival.

Considering the fact that Tony—and Pepper apparently—was as gay as the day was long, Tony repressed his immediate urge to laugh hysterically. To add to that, Pepper was attracted to Harley’s _mother_.

Shaking his head at the irony, Tony wished Pepper all the best sorting out that debacle while thinking about how best to handle his jealous charge. Briefly, Tony entertained the thought of leaving Harley up in the tree and just waiting for Pepper to come back to soothe him. She was the key to this whole mess, it would be a 1000 times easier for her to come deal with it.

But knowing this was James’ son, and remembering the adept way that James had handled Peter, Tony felt guilty at the thought of just passing over the responsibility. He owed it to James to try. 

Praying for no more acorns, Tony called out a truce.

“Harley, I’m not going to hurt Pepper, she’s my friend.” _Just a friend, trust me_. “She just went with Peter to get ice pops for you and Peter. You like Peter, don’t you?” Tony believed that was a fair enough assumption, everyone liked Peter. And if Harley had grown up the isolating life of the son of a mob lord and a prostitute, Peter was probably his first true friend his age.

Seeing the hesitation in the other boy’s face, Tony pressed his advantage. “My brother likes you a lot. I can tell that he was having a lot of fun today, and he will definitely want to play again. Would you like that?”

Harley looked torn before shaking his head fiercely. “I don’t want you to take Pepper away,” he said, voice wobbling. He looked afraid that that was exactly what Tony wanted to do, take away the person who had been taking care of him, a person who he had begun to trust to be there for him.

“Why do you think I would take Pepper away?” Tony asked in a gentle voice.

Harley’s face crumpled. “Be-c-cause t-that’s what ha-p-ppens!” He sobbed.

Tony quickly analysed the tree, looking for toe and footholds that would hold his weight. He hadn’t climbed a tree in a long time, but hopefully, it would be like riding a bike. Instinct after a certain point. Planning in his head, he started pulling himself up to sit near the crying boy. He pulled him gently into a hug the way he had with Pepper, resigned to what was shaping up to be a day covered in snot and emotions. Harley didn’t resist, grabbing onto him tightly and burying his face in Tony’s chest. No matter the fact that he might not like Tony, he was still a child who wanted comforting when he felt upset.

Used to the outburst of emotion from dealing with Peter, Tony just waited it out, letting Harley calm down before asking him more questions.

“What happens?” he asked, still holding the boy close.

Harley mumbled something unintelligibly into his chest and Tony chuckled.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak gurgle. Could you repeat that?” He turned Harley’s face to the side, taking the boy’s handkerchief and dabbing at the tracks of tears and snot on his face. Most of it was on Tony’s vest, but at least this way he looked presentable.

“Mama says that when a girl wants to get married, a man comes to take her away from her family so she can make a new family. That’s how she ended up with Papa, though they’re not together anymore. And its why Mama works so hard, to make sure that the girls are ready for a family before she lets a man take them away. Mama says you have to be careful because some people make a family before they’re ready for one and that makes people unhappy. I don’t understand that part yet, but Mama says I will when I get older.” Harley looked up at Tony despondently. “Are you going to take Pepper away to get married? I don’t want to never see her again.” His eyes started watering again at the thought and Tony hurried spoke to reassure the boy.

“No, I love someone else, so I won’t be taking Pepper anywhere.” Tony tilted Harley’s chin up, meeting watery blue eyes. “Besides, Pepper’s stubborn and she really likes you. She won’t just leave you and never come back.”

“Really? Do you mean that?”

“Every word. I think Pepper’s a lot like your mom, actually. She protects the people she cares about, always have and always will. And now one of those people is you. So even if she did marry and leave, she would still come back to see you, okay?”

Harley sighed, knocking his head back into Tony’s chest, but allowed Tony to keep comforting him. Tony felt strangely fond for the temperamental kid despite his squirrel-inspired attacks. He knew about being afraid of getting abandoned by the people you love and rely on. Tony had felt that way when his mother died, and a part of him still felt that way, fearing that the people in his life would leave him.

Tony made a commitment at that moment to be one of the people Harley Romanov could rely on. He knew that Harley’s mom and Pepper would look out for him, and odds are so would Peter. Steve and James were probably supportive, but from a distance, since they led such busy lives. And there was Sarah who couldn’t resist a stray. All of them together should be able to help a little boy feel a little less alone in the world. He deserved the chance that Tony didn’t have growing up after Maria’s death, to feel secure in the love of those around him.

* * *

“Captain,” Thor nodded in greeting. “I accept your surrender.”

Grinning at the jibe, Steve blocked the hit coming towards his sternum, twisting to the side and throwing his own punch.

Steve spent most of his mornings sparring with Thor. The giant had massive amounts of energy stored in his muscles and liked the exercise to release some of that excess, a habit that Steve took joyful advantage of. The Norseman was skilled, economical in his movements, but with enough power in his strikes to stun a person if he got you close. After a couple of months of sparring on a regular basis, they were familiar enough with each other’s styles that Steve had to get creative in order to one-up the giant. Inspired by the moves he had seen during the audition fights, he had become reinvested in his own training, in learning new fighting styles rather than just maintaining the skills he had.

Krav maga, savate, jujitsu, he was open to all the styles available to him, to have someone who had trained for years in different disciplines to guide him in his way. Falsworth had been competent, but he was no professional the way that Thor was.

It was the most fun Steve had had in a long time in the ring, and he was in a better mental state than ever with such a constant physical outlet. Trying to beat Thor using unexpected moves had become the norm for him, and it was a good exercise in embracing improvisation. Though it was more of a challenge, it inevitably made him a better fighter all around.

Other than the wealth of knowledge held, the better revelation was how much Steve had genuinely come to like the man. While he had known instinctually during the test rounds that Thor would be the best addition to his organization, he hadn’t really been thinking of how his personality would factor in. Honestly, as long as he didn’t cause trouble, Steve hadn’t cared much. But it was a pleasant discovery that the Norseman was naturally open and congenial, always ready to recite an increasingly strange story on Norse myth that had everyone confused but hilariously amused.

His booming way of speaking had needed some time to get used to but ended up being helpful when he was barking out orders for drills. As amiable as he was a person and drinking partner, Thor was a brutal taskmaster and with his vocals, no one had the excuse that they didn’t hear the correct instructions. Thor himself had shared that he had strict teachers who expected devotion to their craft and he shared the same mentality. Discipline was necessary for a successful unit to learn the skills he was imparting, to build on them and then combine them to work together effectively. And the Norseman took his duty seriously.

Succeeding in pinning the other man through a strategic use of elbows, Steve and Thor settled around the rickety table in the basement room to enjoy a hearty breakfast with Sam. Sometimes his friend showed up early enough to get a session in—it depended on whether he was getting morning sex or not, Sam had shared _much_ too eagerly with Steve—but for the most part Steve spent his mornings chatting with Thor and developing their burgeoning friendship.

Thor hadn’t always been as serious in his duties as he was now. In fact, earlier in life he was frivolous and irresponsible, regularly risking his life in underground fighting rings all over Europe that was lucrative, but also brutal. He had garnered a bit of notoriety under the pseudonym Thor Asgard, to the point where people had starting calling him the God of Thunder. But when his sister, Hela, had died, Thor had suddenly become the guardian to two 13-year olds that he hadn’t seen since they were babies.

It had taken a month of regular breakfasts for Thor to confess that he had children and a partner he lived with. Embarrassingly, the impetus for the confession had been Thor walking into Steve happily divesting Tony of his clothes in the office—an event that had effectively killed the mood. In their defence, Tony was frequently tired in the evenings due to his exertions with James. Because they were both men with healthy sex drives, Tony and Steve had taken to fooling around during working hours and usually remembered to lock the door. Not this time, but Steve blames that on Tony. He was entirely too delectable.

After Thor had walked out without a word, Steve had spent a chilling rest of the day plotting how to dispose of the Norseman if he tried to harm Tony or his family in any way. He didn’t want to do it, Thor had grown on him in a short amount of time and they were on their way to becoming friends. But Steve wasn’t going to risk anyone getting hurt over underestimating the devastation a betrayal could cause. The Falsworth warning played too loudly in the back of his head for him to be that relaxed.

After hearing Thor’s circumstances, however, he had understood the need for caution. Not only was Thor the legal guardian of the twins, Pietro and Wanda, but Thor lived with his male lover, Loki. Thor had explained that both of them had grown up as close as brothers, but the way he had felt for Loki could never be considered _brotherly_. Thor had spent many years resisting his own feelings, thinking them wrong and ended up using them as the motivation to move out of their small Norwegian town and heading to the city. But when Hela had died and Thor had returned, he had found Loki a beloved and overprotective uncle ready to challenge Thor for the children.

Because Thor hadn’t been close to the children or his sister for some time before her death, he had needed Loki to get close to them, to get the two guarded and sceptical preteens to trust him. Loki had grudgingly agreed, but things weren’t easy between them. Thor had left without a word to Loki and there was still lingering hurt that manifested as resentment. Sparks flowed, disparaging words exchanged and exploded into a few bouts of angry, athletic sex that had cooled to expose real feelings on both sides.

Knowing they could never get away with their relationship in a town that knew them so intimately, they had left for America and a new life there. Hoping they would get lost in the crowd of immigrants and be able to be together without anyone the wiser. They all needed a fresh start away from the memories of the past, especially the kids.

Growing up with James, Steve could relate to Thor’s history. It led to the strengthening of their own bonds to know they had something so pivotal to their identity in common. 

However, the part that had Steve’s hackles raising was when Thor confessed that he hadn’t shown up at Steve’s by accident. Sure, Thor had needed the job, but he had heard whispers from a colleague that Steve was queer and had decided he wanted to check it out for himself.

Steve was thoroughly alarmed at that information. Between his relationship with Tony, Sam with Rhodes and now Thor, he was attracting his own, but he knew that would lead to the wrong kind of attention. If Thor had heard those whispers, then others would have as well, putting a target on all their backs. Steve had barely survived one homophobic attack, he knew that if they wanted to survive a larger attack they needed to be prepared. Therefore, to protect the ones under his care, Thor trained the members, while he, Dugan, Sam, Rhodes and Tony were all on the lookout for anyone they couldn’t trust.

They had increased their weapons supplies, ordering larger shipments of black market items from guns to grenades. They stockpiled them in their key locations, increasing the caches in the main building, but also in locations across the city known by a select few, in case they ever ended up in a gang shoot out. Steve himself never had less than three guns on him at a time, two strapped to his sides under his jacket and another at his ankle. If he was heading out, there were more weapons tucked on his person. He didn’t trust the calm that had been upon them recently, the quiet raising the hairs on the back of his neck. It wasn’t paranoia if they were out to get you.

Those thoughts were still whirling in the back of his mind when he met with James later that night to debrief any updates on Green Flash.

“I haven’t been able to track down the route the suppliers are using to bring the drugs into the city,” Steve relayed, standing over the map of the city he had pinned to the surface of a table, James leaning on the bookshelves across from him. They were in the study again, on one side of the room while Tony was curled up in one of the armchairs in the other, a book sitting in his lap.

Steve pointed to a location on the coast, “The most likely location would be at the docks, there’s lots of contraband coming through there, it could be smuggled in with other shipments. The only thing I’ve been able to confirm so far is that none of the other Six is bringing it in, it’s definitely an outside source.”

James nodded and took a sip of his scotch. The first initial bribe had gone so well that James was again a weekly guest at their dinner table and Steve was happy to have his friend back at his side. A reality that Tony had a lot to do with, continuing to act as the middle man between them until they got over themselves and got their act together. But in the end, it felt like not only had Steve and James recovered the ease of their friendship, but there was also a burgeoning one between James and Tony that added a layer of warmth and fondness to their interactions. It was more than Steve had dared to hope for when James had walked away the night of their last kiss.

“From what I can tell, the other lords can’t tell either. But there has been talk of more turncoats,” James shared. Steve felt his good mood dissipate with a flash of anger and disgust. He hated people who betrayed their crew for more money. At least with Falsworth, the son of a bitch betrayed him because he hated him, not for some cheap cash. The Six made sure that their gang members had enough to at least put food on the table, knowing that financial hardship would light the fires of disloyalty quicker than anything else.

They weren’t good people. Not by any stretch of the imagination. All of the Six killed and lied and cheated their way to wealth and power. They sold drugs and weapons and dominated crime. Steve was used to having to put a bullet between a man’s eyes for disloyalty and he no longer hesitated the way he once would have. He didn’t enjoy it, but what needed to be done was done and he always dealt with executions himself. He wanted the men who betrayed him to see him last.

Maybe it meant his soul was black and unredeemable, but they looked after their own.

The way that James had enrolled Tony and then Steve in his hospital for treatment would be the same way he would treat any of his members who were hurt severely. For a member to turn their back on that support and comradery for more cash, especially for something that was threatening the safety of their own people, was despicable.

“What have you heard? Who’s been most affected?”

“As of right now, the hardest hit are Madame Gao’s and Luke Cage’s factions, clearly because as the drug lords they have the most connections to successfully deal Green Flash.” James chuckled darkly. “Madame Gao is going on a rampage, like a housewife during spring cleaning time. She’s been interrogating her people and doling out vicious punishments for anyone she finds that has been double-dealing her. Luke Cage, on the other hand, might have a lead.” He traced a path heading deeper inland, towards the other states. “He’s authorized a man-hunt for a woman who’s been raising hell by giving him the slip. All I know so far though is that her name is J. Jones and she spoke to him about some mind-control experience she had or something to that effect,” he recited, shrugging. They weren’t overly concerned with the details; they could get them from J. Jones herself. “He’s keeping it all a bit close to the vest, but the blackout side effects sound similar to that of Green Flash, so I’ve been having people tailing him and the man he has searching for Jones.”

Steve scanned the places they’d marked, analysing. Two months and they barely had any real leads. Whoever was doing this was being attentive, which was an undeniable red flag. Usually, when there’s a new drug on the scene, the mixers _wanted_ to involve the gangs to sell their stock. The fact that this group was taking active care to avoid that as well as try to sabotage the factions from the inside was worrisome. Steve had a feeling that said they were missing something but without more information, he wouldn’t know what that was. Yet.

Tabling the issue, for now, they moved to the chess set laid out and continued the last game they had been playing, Steve taking over the side James had been playing as James took his. They each liked the mental exercise when they were focused on a problem, but also enjoyed the additional challenge of playing from the side they had previously been playing against. The switch changed the way that they viewed the board, forcing them to try and intuit the strategy the other had been using.

“In other news,” Steve began, “it seems some of our wealthy friends have started an underground fighting ring in the city. Thor got word from one of the fighters he knew from his previous life, someone who goes by Valkyrie.” Thor had shared that his contact had been approached to be part of the rings but she had declined, no longer interested in fighting for rich people’s entertainment. It meant that she didn’t have any details to share about the operation though.

James huffed a laugh, setting down his empty glass and waving off the offer of another. “Oh? Which friends do you mean?”

“Think the top ten percent.”

James nodded sagely in understanding. “All the people with too much wealth in their hands and suffering of ennui.”

“All the people with too much time to make trouble and no better sense to hold them back,” Steve shot back, surprising James into a laugh.

“You’ve always had such an admiration for our betters, Stevie.”

“Wealthier, yes,” Steve acknowledged. “But I don’t know how you can consider someone your better if you doubt their ability to wipe their ass without a butler present.”

“That’s your Irish immigrant roots talking.”

“Hell yea, it is—” a soft snore broke into whatever tirade Steve was going to start on the pride of his roots and the benefits of working for what you wanted. Both men turned towards the couches where they could see an exhausted Tony slumped over in his chair, the book having tumbled off his lap and lying splayed on the floor. Steve could feel a warm glow of love in his chest as he stood and walked over to his lover.

There were dark marks lying under his eyes, signs of how hard he had been pushing himself. He had decided to continue his education after confessing to Steve that he was jealous of Rhodes for having his cooking. Not because he wanted to cook, but because cooking was something Rhodes did for himself because it made him happy. Tony had explained that while he loved having a duty that helped Steve, he had loved maths and sciences in school and wanted to keep learning. Keep developing his dreams for himself.

So now he was balancing his accountant duties during the day and his training at night with whatever knowledge he could gain from the books in the library until they could find a new man they could trust to balance the numbers. The last one had ended up dead because Tony had caught him skimming off the top, over a period of several years. When Tony had made his desires known, Steve had felt a pang of loss at realizing that Tony wanted to keep moving forward, selfishly wanting to keep him near and working with him.

But then he had seen how happy reading the complex theoretical writing was making Tony, seen the way he lit up babbling about things that went far over Steve’s head, and he felt the overwhelming desire to do whatever would make Tony happy like that all the time. To make sure that Tony wouldn’t burn himself out trying to do everything, Steve had insisted that he come into the office later in order to sleep off the exhaustion of juggling everything. Tony wasn’t great at limiting himself, sometimes using that extra time to read more, but they were figuring out things together.

Which meant that sometimes Tony passed out wherever he got comfortable for a while, the lack of movement letting his fatigue catch up all at once.

Leaning down to pick up his lover, Steve feels the petals of warmth unfurl in his chest at the way Tony just curls into him trustingly. He didn’t even bother to open his eyes, just let out a low hum as he wiggled until he was situated to his liking.

James chuckles at the sound, a smirk twisting his lips. “He really is like a kitten. He even purrs.” His eyebrows climbed up his forehead when he bent to pick up Tony’s fallen book, letting out a low whistle at the title which Steve can see is something about mechanical engineering. Steve wasn’t sure all what that entailed, but he suspected that he was going to hear about it in a few days and more likely than not still not understand. Because when Tony explained things he was excited about, he tended to skip steps and details that to him were obvious but to others were not.

About to part ways for the night, James turned back to Steve. “The Black Widow may have the solution to a staffing problem of yours. She invites you to come visit in a few days’ time.”

“Tell her I’ll be there.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did a thing, if you know it you'll recognize it. Don't worry if you don't, it's so random and I just popped it in there on a whim. Oh, and there is actually an old Irish pub in that area of Brooklyn, its called O'Sullivan's so shout out to a relic of Brooklyn Irish neighbourhoods.

A few nights later, they arrived at the brothel at 10pm. Unlike some of the nondescript facades that were common for brothel houses, when James started an illicit business he did it right, profiting off if the fantasies it inspired. The entrance of the brothel consisted of heavy double doors that could withstand an enormous amount of force in the event of a raid. It opened into a wide room that was filled with various levels of couched seating, chaise lounges, armchairs, and loveseats all positioned to invite relaxation and comfort. As well as give the house workers a multitude of places to elegantly drape themselves, a fact that many were taking advantage of now since it was peak business hours.

People were scattered around the room in groups and couples. Women enticingly dressed in luxurious jewel-tones, fabric and cuts designed to draw the eyes to their curves. Servers slipping between couples with trays of alcohol and bites of chocolate or cream dipped fruit. Men with rumpled clothing, tousled hair and love marks on their skin.

James glanced at Tony as they entered, taking in his wide eyes with amusement. Steve was unaffected by the sights after his extended exposure—he had been a regular customer for years now—but he was also grinning at the flustered way that Tony’s eyes darted from one area of the room to the next, not wanting to linger too long. Though there were private rooms available for those who wanted to increase the intimacy of their acquaintance, not everyone bothered with discretion in the front room. There was a plentiful array of straddled laps, teasing kisses and tantalizing stretches of skin, the sexual energy palpable and fed by the flowing alcohol.

The bar was located at the far end of the room, Boris slinging out drinks with his tattooed arms in full display, marks fluidly twining up his arms and up his neck like the path of a lovers’ hands. He acted as Natasha’s second set of eyes when she wasn’t on the floor herself and could be trusted to deal with any troublesome cases that arose when people were drunk and horny, and many were both.

James was sorely tempted to linger, watch Tony take in the room with his meticulous eye and enjoy the way that his ears heated up at the sheer embarrassment of being witness to such blatant promiscuity. James had been teaching him to be aware of his surroundings, take in the scene at a glance and remember all the important things he needed to keep track of. So far, they were focused on taking in difficult opponents, items that could use as makeshift weapons, areas that could utilized to his advantage in a fight, etc. But Tony was a quick study who processed information at a phenomenal rate, so all the little details of this room were sure to be taken in the same way.

Deeper into the house, there were rooms designated for their clientele with more specific tastes. Rooms filled with opium smoke or strings of cocaine, rooms for those seeking multiple partners, rooms for those who preferred their own sex. They had to be more careful with the members who entered those areas, the public outcry that would befall the brothel hammering in a greater need for secrecy and discretion then the acts of the front room.

James led them in that direction, his own offices located farther within. Close enough to come out if he was needed, but far enough that clients wouldn’t accidentally wander into where they weren’t wanted.

It was a large room, in some ways a mirror to his own home office. There was a heavy desk piled high with reports to review, though this one was bracketed by locked cabinets rather than windows, providing ample space for the reports and files he needed to keep track of. The far side of the room near the windows was dominated by a long, heavy table that held various maps of the city, the largest of which tracked all the major shipments that came by land or sea. Drugs, weapons, men—as the head of the Six, James had people track the ins and outs of his territory so that he was never unprepared.

On the wall near the table was another map, this one with various pins that tracked the locations of the other crime lords as well as the main holdings of their men. James kept the details of his own operation in his head, memorizing any new updates and leaving the written documents under lock and key. And Steve’s, well he still tracked his movements just in case he needed to step in, but James kept most of those details locked away too. The instinct to protect Steve was ingrained to the point of no return at this juncture; he just did it automatically.

It was a little earlier than meeting time, Natasha wouldn’t show up for at least another fifteen minutes, but it was good that Steve had some more time to prepare his selling points to win over Natasha. He wanted her to put him in touch with the reputable sniper she told him was coming to town. Clint Barton was one of the best, anyone would be lucky to employ him for a temporary stint, but this time there were rumours he was looking for stable employment rather than just a one stop shot. And Natasha had a personal connection.

While they settled down in the seating area near the fireplace to wait, James headed to the box on the mantle to pull out a few cigars and offer them to Steve and Tony. Tony declined one of his own, but watched with interest as James and Steve lit theirs and took deep drags.

_Mmm, Natasha bought the Cuban ones this time_ , James appreciated as he breathed in the fragrant smoke, relaxing back in his armchair and enjoying the burn in his lungs. 

Steve was also enjoying himself, elegant artist hands pulling the cigar from his lips as he exhaled the thick smoke unhurriedly. He painted a pretty picture surrounded by the ephemerous spirals, his position with one ankle crossed over knee stretching the fabric of his pants to display thick thighs. He had taken off his hat on the way in, so the strands were lightly ruffled, his skin holding a soft glow from the reflection of the firelight.

Tony watching the proceedings with hungry eyes pinned to Steve, who knew exactly how delicious he looked. His eyes glinted with the same erotic promise that, when they were lovers, had told James that he was going to get fucked long and hard. Watching him aim that look at Tony, James immediately felt a stab of jealousy, reminded of the fact that when this meeting was over, Steve would take Tony home to his bed. Where he would make him whimper and ache for relief as he pushed him near the edge over and over again.

Forcing away the images, James interrupted the eyefucking by offering his lit cigar to Tony, who pulled his gaze away from Steve reluctantly and took hold of it. Doubtfully, he put his mouth where James’ had been, copying their actions and inhaling deeply. He promptly proceeded to choke on the smoke.

Smiling at his ineptitude, James moved to grab Tony some water while Steve patted his back, both looking up their tasks when a husky laugh drew their attention. Natasha strode through the door, dressed for the evening in a fitted green gown with a long slit up the side that bared a salacious strip of shapely leg. Most men would be distracted by the sight, but James knew that the slit was so she could fight unimpeded in case the Black Widow needed to make an appearance. Natasha would never permit wearing something that would limit her range of motion.

They all rose at the sight of her, but James stepped forward first to greet her, holding her arms as he kissed both her cheeks.

“ _I’m surprised you remember your manners in company, Yasha_ ,” she teases in Russian, returning the gesture.

“ _I’m reformed_ ,” he replies blithely. “ _I’m a true gentleman now_.”

“ _Our thriving sex business seems to dispute that_.”

She turns to Steve with a look of faux chastisement.

“Captain Rogers, how rude you’ve been. You started acting like a stranger the moment you stopped needing one of my boys to satisfy you.” Still, she extends a hand for Steve to take. James knew that Natasha had a fondness for the blond, treated him with the same level of familiarity she did with James.

“My apologies, Madam Natasha. You’re looking lovely this evening.” Steve smoothly bends over to brush a kiss over her knuckles, like a knight meeting a lady. James snorts at the blatant attempt at flattery, but internally he approved. Like her pseudonym, Natasha had a wide web of people who she influenced, who would follow anything she said. Either because they owed her something, or because she had scandalous information on them that they would give anything to keep hidden away. 

It would take negotiation for Steve to convince Natasha to make the recommendation to Barton—she never gave anything for free—but it wouldn’t hurt to put her in a good mood. And manners charmed her like nothing else, especially when most men trying to convince her to do them a favour only saw a woman working in a brothel. A whore, a prostitute, someone merely there to service them.

They looked down on her, underestimating her skills and foolishly trying to intimidate their way to success, which usually got them thrown out. If they really pissed her off, they’d be outright blacklisted from all the businesses under her control, then had their reputation dragged through the mud through her various connections. Some died.

“Are you saying I don’t always look lovely, Captain?” Natasha raised one delicately arched brow.

“I just meant you look especially lovely tonight, but you make a valid point. You are always the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Far from wooed, she rolled her eyes, huffing.

“When did you get so boring? You used to get so flustered when a pressed you before. Now you’re all poised and ruining my fun.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Steve promised, humour in his voice. “How’s Harley?”

James heard a noise behind him and they turned to see Tony staring at Natasha, shocked.

“ _You’re_ Harley’s mom?”

Natasha stared right back.

“Yes,” she responded, intrigued. James felt the same way, they didn’t usually share information about Harley with the number of enemies they had; it would put the boy at risk. They’ve already been several failed kidnapping attempts, people who wanted to blackmail their way to James and Natasha’s collective wealth and influence. “You’re the new lover boy, aren’t you? Antonio Stark. How do _you_ know my son?”

“Tony,” Tony reached forward to offer his hand to Natasha. “Pepper’s the reason, actually. She brought him to the park and he played with my brother and I for a few hours.” Tony shrugged. “He threw acorns at me, so I honestly don’t think he likes me that much.”

Natasha laughed at the confession. “That sounds like my son. Taking advantage of his environment just like I taught him.” She took the hand she was still holding to pull Tony past James and Steve to sit next to her on the divan. “Now, tell me how you got him to go from throwing acorns at you to talking about the boys he met in the park as his best friends in the world.”

Effectively ignored, James and Steve sat and listened as Tony endeared himself to Natasha by revealing his honest fondness for a boy he had met a mere week ago, a fondness that was apparently returned.

James was dumbfounded. Tony did have an honest charisma about him, but Harley was a guarded child with an unorthodox childhood. He was usually reticent, spending most of his days reading and studying by himself, not one to reach out or warm to others. Things had changed slightly since they had employed Pepper, the boy growing attached to the woman working with his mother. But she couldn’t spend much time playing with him in the grand scheme of things, her days filled with helping Natasha expand on the business aspects of the brothel since they discovered she had a natural head for it.

Harley couldn’t have been bought with a day at the park and a hug in a tree. Could he?

Tony and Natasha keep talking and James watched incredulously as the young Italian entertains Natasha through one story into another and another, effortlessly charming her with wit and humour. All the while, James and Steve stay at the background, contributing as much to the conversation as a couple of bookends.

“This is actually great news that I met you tonight, Madam.” Tony admits, a good hour and a half of story time later. James assumes that this is when Steve will jump in to make his pitch, but when he looks over at the blond, he’s just watching Tony with a soft smile on his face—mesmerized by the way Tony’s eyes had lit up when he relieved moments of Pepper exploding the coffee machine.

“Please, call me Natasha, darling.”

Elbowing Steve in the side, James shares a meaningful glance with him, urging him to seize the moment.

It’s good to know that all the time under Howard hadn’t been all a horror story, but they were here to do business. And even though he was friendly with Tony now, James knew better than to be attracted by Tony’s smile or his soft whiskey eyes or the audacious things that come out of his smart mouth. He was responsible for training the young man in close-quarter attacks. They could be friendly, friends even, but it couldn’t be more than that. He knew better than to let himself fall into anything more than fondness.

“Natasha,” Tony acknowledged. “I have a proposition for you. I’d like Harley to be enrolled in public school.” Immediately side-tracked, James whipped around to stare at Tony, opening his mouth to ask what the hell he was on about. Apparently anticipating the reaction, Tony raised his hands before Natasha or James could voice their protests. “Please just hear me out.”

He proceeded to share his plan for Harley to be enrolled by Sarah under a fake last name so he wouldn’t be traced back to the Romanov family. He would be a distant relative of Peter’s, which would explain why the boys were close to each other and why Sarah could pick up Harley when she went to pick up Peter. Hopefully without the presence of Natasha or James (or an armed escort) none of the parents know anything was different about the boy.

“Sarah has already agreed to do it when I told her it was James’ son.” At this, both Steve and James gaped at Tony, but the younger man just continued pitching his sale. “This way he’ll have friends his age, a formal education and since Sarah would vouch for him, his background wouldn’t be at risk of being picked apart by government workers. Her influence as a parent the teachers and school trust would dissuade too many questions.”

Tony reached out to grasp Natasha’s hands, eyes earnest and serious. “Pepper told me all about how fantastic you are as a mother. That you want to give Harley the best of whatever you can give him. I’m not saying that public school is the best, his private tutors are probably better for his education. Honestly, there isn’t a wrong answer either way, but I wanted to present you with another option that might not have been available to you before.”

“Why?” Natasha asked.

“Because I want to be there for Harley too.”

Seeing the confusion that resulted from his statement, Tony scrubbed a hand through his hair self-consciously. “He might have hated me on sight and snotted all over my clothes, but I like Harley a lot. He reminds me = of what I was like as a kid after my mom died. At that time, it was hard for me to trust people when I knew from Howard the things people were capable of. Harley’s smart and watches people closely. He knows a lot about the negative capabilities for a kid his age, it’s probably what makes him so cautious.”

“Yes,” Natasha sighed. “He’s been surrounded with adults his whole life, either me and James or his tutors. It was to protect him, but it meant a lonely life for him.”

Tony smiled. “It’s also probably what made him get so attached to Pepper. He knows he can trust her.” Natasha hummed noncommittedly at Pepper’s name but James watched her eye twitched in a little tell. “She’s doing her best to support him and I want to do the same. I was thinking maybe this way, by going to public school and spending some more playing and pushing his own boundaries, he wouldn’t be as lonely and could have a normal childhood. Or at least whatever level of normalcy you can have with a mob lord as a father.”

“Tony stop,” James finally interrupted. “Harley isn’t my son. He’s my nephew.” Though he felt like the boy’s father. He was the only father figure Harley had ever known and James would never do anything to betray that trust. Harley might have had a hard time growing up under the weight of the Romanov family, but everything they did, they did it to keep him safe.

“You mean…”

“Natasha is my cousin.” Tony’s eyes swung to Natasha, eyes widening in horror when she nodded in confirmation.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to insinuate—”

Natasha laughed, raising a hand to close his mouth. “I know.” Her eyes grew serious as she thought about all that Tony was offering for Harley. “You want to be there for my son?”

“Yes. Sarah always says that James is her other son. Through him, we’re family now, too and as family you should have our full support.” James looked to Steve at Tony’s declaration, stifling his laughter at the way that Steve looks like he’s just been smacked with a fish at Tony’s blatant claim of James, Natasha and Harley as his family.

“I’ll consider it,” Natasha eventually says before turning to Steve. “I’ll consider your needs as well. Since we’re family now.” She smiled like the cat who got the cream, probably already planning how she was going to use this new “relation” to torment Steve. James wished him all the best, fully sympathizing with Steve since he had intimate knowledge of Natasha’s meddling tendencies.

Steve’s brows rise at this announcement, but he takes it, thanking Natasha for her consideration, leaving with Tony not too long after, not taking the chance she’d change her mind.

James knew that Steve had just been planning to offer Natasha some version of their regular quid pro quo. To witness the natural way Tony had seized control of the meeting and guided it his way made it clear why he got along so well with Natasha, they knew how to manipulate the game in their favour. James himself didn’t know how he felt about the claim of family, but he admitted the Italian was a force of nature to deal with.

When they leave, James gets up to fetch a bottle of vodka and a couple of glasses, settling next to his cousin and pouring them both a tall drink. They both settle into the silence, finishing and refilling their glasses. Knowing she won’t want to talk about the proposition for Harley until she had some time to think things over, he turned the conversation to lighter topics.

“I noticed your particular interest in the stories that featured our dear Pepper. How have things been going with you two?”

Natasha shrugged a slim shoulder. “She’s adjusted well. She’s very efficient and she’s learning how to handle all the different dealings we handle here.”

James did a lot of his business at the brothel, negotiating with large businesses or politicians that enjoyed its discreet entrances the entertainment of his private rooms. The constant flux of people moving in and out needed a keen eye in order for things to run smoothly and while Natasha did a fantastic job, she was juggling a lot. Pepper had been brought in to help her delegate the tasks she couldn’t get to.

James noticed that they were getting along well, but also caught the way that Natasha watched the other redhead. There was an attentiveness there, an uncharacteristic openness in their interactions that spoke to something more. Then there was the fact that Natasha had allowed Pepper to take Harley out of the brothel without an armed escort. She never trusted anyone with Harley other than James himself.

“Are you sure that that’s all there is? Are you sure you have no feelings for her?”

Natasha scoffs. “Love is for children.” It’s a blatant lie and they both know it, but James pretends to agree anyway.Natasha will only talk when she’s ready and not a moment before. She had the full Romanov stubbornness.

“Amen,” James raises his glass in a toast, and they both laughed at loud at the irony. God had abandoned them a long time ago.

* * *

Steve was making rounds through the Bay Ridge part of Brooklyn when Monday came around, spending time checking on his businesses there. With the profit racketeering scheme, he liked to make visits every so often to make sure that all was running according to the books. Were his businesses still turning a profit, were those profits matching the projected outcomes of the business or were they doing side businesses with other gangs?

Annoyingly, he found that all was not what he needed it to be. Just like he suspected, D’amiano was trying to poach into his territory and he had spent the better part of the morning reminding his businesses why they owed him their loyalty. As well as reminding them that he could be tempted into starting another Italian-Irish blood feud if tempted, a gruesome reality that would make everyone suffer when vengeful vendettas overcame common sense.

He needed to remind them that _he_ was the reason the feuds had ended in the first place and he was the reason they didn’t spark up every time the Italians and the Irish clashed heads. If they thought he would tolerate the loss of his business and the shrinking of his territory, then they were in for a rude awakening. Steve had no compunctions calling in the debts he was owed, ensuring that those that owed him would pay off their debt to him from prison as he seized complete control of their assets as collateral.

His temper was on a hair-trigger after witnessing the disloyalty of three of the families in this neighbourhood alone. He hadn’t shot anyone yet, but that was only because it was harder collecting a debt from a dead man and he didn’t want to encourage rumours of executions. Panicked people did not make for a successful enterprise.

Walking into O’Malley’s at the corner, Steve finally relaxed, the expectation of a cold beer and a sandwich taking the edge of his morning. George O’Malley was an old staple in this part of town, like the honorary uncle most people didn’t know was missing from their life until he talked their ear off with one of his never-ending stories. In the process, also solving whatever problem they were having without him having to ask about it.

If Steve cut Old Man O’Malley’s fees in comparison to his usual rate, that was no one’s business but his own. The man was never late for a payment anyway.

But when Steve gets to his regular table, he finds it occupied by a dark blond man happily finishing _his_ sandwich. Fully ready to kick the man to the curb, Steve pauses when he catches sight of the hawk eyes just peeking out of the other man’s rolled up shirtsleeves, inked high up by the bend of his elbow. The mark of Clint Barton, Natasha’s contact. Also known as the sniper that had disposed of her waste of space of a husband.

Natasha had only shared the story because they had been smoking—an excellent way to get her to spill juicy secrets—passing the blunt back and forth between them in a casual handoff. Even then, it had been the spare details. All Steve knew was that Natasha had been married off at a young age to an older man, an Alexander Pierce. A man who had turned out to be a cheating husband, and an asshole who dabbled in the sexual slavery. That was one thing Steve wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, even with his lax morals.

Pierce took orders from those that could afford to purchase a “gift” and then had teams facilitating the kidnapping of whatever person fit the bill and selling them off to the highest bidder. When Natasha had found out, she knew she couldn’t just let that stand, and had started planning how to sabotage his business and end it. For good.

But she had been pregnant with Harley at that point, and even though she was a decent shot, she knew she couldn’t risk her child by taking Pierce out by herself. Between his connections and his armed guard, it would be a difficult hit to make if she didn’t want it coming straight back to her, and everyone in their area knew how difficult and tumultuous their marriage was.

Therefore, Natasha had contracted Clint Barton to make the hit, while she was seen out and about. Sure, there would always be those that speculated that it was a set up, but as long as she had a clear alibi and no trail to lead back to her, she was good. In an unlikely turn of fate, the sniper hadn’t abandoned her after that. They dismantled what remained of his business after Pierce was gone and Natasha had made plans to leave. Barton helped her get out of Pierce’s territory, out of Russia and across the ocean so she could reunite with her long-lost cousin James Romanov.

Steve knew that Natasha had been a fundamental component to helping James heal after the car accident that took his parents’ and sisters’ lives. James had been grieving the loss of his family when Natasha and a one year old Harley had showed up on his doorstep. Steve didn’t know what she had said to convince James of their relation, but she and Harley had been with them ever since.

Focusing on the man who had been responsible for bringing Natasha into their lives, Steve took the chair opposite the infamous Clint Barton, eyebrow raised in question.

“Oh, you’re here!” The other man said cheerfully. “I’m happy to report that this place is all good, on time with their payments, honest in their dealings and most importantly,” he sucks a bit of sauce covered lettuce off his thumb, “has _incredibly_ delicious food. Though Old Man O’Malley did want to let you know that one of his daughters ‘fancied’ you and he thinks you could do with a companion. He thinks it’ll make you less grumpy and now that I’m seeing you,” he indicates the scowl gracing Steve’s face, “I’m inclined to agree. Anyway, I told him you’d think about it. You’re welcome.”

Steve’s scowl deepens. “Why the hell would you do that? Saying you’d think about it to O’Malley is basically like signing a marriage certificate.”

Barton shrugs, unrepentant. “He was giving me free drinks.”

Steve twists to call out to one of his men that had been making rounds with him. “Caleb, make sure that O’Malley isn’t sending out invites to my wedding. And cancel any purchases he’s making in my name. And you,” he turns back around. “Seeing as you’ve been acting in my name, tell me that you actually have something useful.”

“Sure, sure,” Barton said, picking up the menu again. “I’m still hungry though, and this place has fantastic sandwiches. Wanna get one?” he still has the audacity to ask after devouring Steve’s food like a starving orphan.

Pushing aside his annoyance, Steve orders them more food and beer, trying to reconcile the Clint Barton that is the best sniper in the business to this man who seems incapable of serious discussion. _Natasha recommended him_ , he reminded himself. If nothing else, he trusted Natasha’s good sense.

He must not have pushed aside his annoyance far enough though, cause the next words that come out of his mouth are, “The food’s coming soon and if you haven’t told me something useful by then, you’ll have a brand-new hole in your face to eat it with.”

Untroubled, Clint snorted. “God, you mobsters are so cranky. Must be all those long hours.” He takes a long drink of his pint before pushing everything aside. “The real news is that there’s going to be a soiree in a few weeks, and all the hoity-toity types that have their naughty bourgeoisie fingers in the underground fights that’ve been popping up all over the city, are going to be there. It’s all very hush-hush.” One of the waiters brings their food out and Clint calls out for refills for the both of them.

“Oh, and,” at this the sniper lowers his voice as he turns to the waiter, “put it on his tab.” When he sees Steve staring at him flatly, he smiles ruefully, shrugging.

“In my defence, I just moved here. All my money is tied up so I have no funds until you pay me. This information may be to prove that I’m the man you want for the job, but it isn’t for free.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve just nods to the waiter, waving him away and waiting for Barton to continue.

“The event itself is going to be lavish, they’re definitely celebrating something and they are being very selective with their invites, only the wealthy or the famous of New York City are going to be there. But being the amazing specimen I am, I got you invites so I hope you’re excited to be rubbing elbows with the rich!”

Finally, a breakthrough. They haven’t been having much success with the drug case lately, the dealings trickling off in the last few months and make the source of Green Flash near impossible to track. But at least they have some traction on this one. An invite to this event would mean that they would be able to make the next logical step, charming one of the members to let observe their operation. That way they could decide whether they wanted to shut down the fights or buy into them, but either way it was always better to be in on other people’s illegal activities than blind to them. At least this way they could control it or at least manoeuvre it to their benefit.

“You know I’m not asking you to be a spy, right? That wasn’t the position I planned to hire you for.”

“Yea, I know, but I get bored easy and spy work can be more entertaining than wet work when you have the right connections and people who do the boring parts for you. So if you hire me, it’ll just be one of the perks that will keep me happy and you happy.”

“Fine by me.” They shook on it, a part of Steve hoping that this whole runaround was just something the sniper, codename Hawkeye, did to weed out people he wouldn’t work well with. Maybe eventually he would mellow out.

He ignored the voice in the back of his head that whispered that that was a load of bullshit. It was a good thing he had experience taking it because he just _knew_ that Clint Barton was going to be a pain in his ass.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thank you for the support and feedback, I hope you enjoy this latest one because writing has become difficult lately and I don't really know when the next chapter is going to come out. It might be next week like usual but it might not be so very sorry in advance if I disappear.

Tony saw the knife coming straight for him, ready to slice him open a long cut stretching from shoulder to hip. Moving quickly, he launched himself away from the threat, making sure to keep track of his surroundings to make sure he wasn’t being cornered. Analysing his opponent’s movements, he searched for openings as he blocked their strikes, letting the training that had been drilled into his bones take over his own movements.

“You’re moving slow today, grandpa. You sure you don’t need a little break to rest your creaky old joints?” Tony shot out.

James snorted. “That’s courtesy, not age, princess. I wouldn’t want to overexert a delicate flower such as yourself.”

“If you’re going to keep calling me princess, you better be prepared to bow and pay your respects.”

“As you wish.” Moving quickly, James disarmed Tony in two moves while in the process winding him with a knock to the ground. Grinning down at Tony as he lay there flat on his back, James opened his arms in a smooth spread and bowed.

Scowling, Tony got back to his feet and grabbed his knife back. “Again.”

They moved around each in a sinuous dance, James shifting his form adeptly as he fought. Even when he wasn’t fighting at his full deadly capacity, he was irritatingly hard to pin down. Because of his smaller form, Tony used his speed to his advantage in order to counter James’ longer reach, skipping to the side to evade hits and then ducking back in to attack. Annoyingly, James’ hovered just out of reach of a fatal blow, taunting Tony and aggravating him in a way he knew was purposeful.

James had a devilish sense of humour, and he utilized it to its full extent while training Tony. There was the time he had ordered Tony clean all the knives in the armoury _and_ the kitchen—allegedly to get him into the habit of taking care of his own weapons. Tony fully believed that the whole thing had just an excuse to fuck with him, so he planned a little payback. He _might_ have started a teeny tiny explosion in the kitchen as retribution—who knew flour was so flammable?—that had James running in panicked, but all was fair in love and war.

This was most definitely war and Tony was fully committed to giving back as good as he got. 

But the occasional bullshit lesson aside, Tony could admit that James had been a strict and effective teacher.

When they weren’t in the ring, James had him doing other training that would supplement the skills he was learning by fighting. He had Tony running up and down stairs for hours, aiming to build on the speed and stamina that would become Tony’s foremost defence. He even had him climbing rock walls (James really had the most ridiculous resources he had ever seen) to work on his agility and his grip.

It had been terrifying the day that Tony showed up and James had ordered him to climb without the ropes to support him. It was only after he had pushed aside his fear of falling—in effect becoming a large wet stain on the floor—and succeeded in reaching the top and making his way down again, that James had told him that he knew he could do it.

Leave it to James to give encouragement after the fact. Tony had been sorely tempted to flip him off and walk away right then and there, but he resisted. Barely.

_Tap_. James marked the point across Tony’s shoulders. That was one of the places he wasn’t as good at guarding, along with his elbows. Neck, stomach, thigh, groinTony had ample experience guarding those at this point, but the outer extremities were the hardest.

_Tap_ , a hit on the back of his kidney.

_Tap, tap, tap_. James never went easy on him even when he took care of Tony’s triggers. He knew exactly how far and how to push, targeting the buttons that got Tony’s competitive nature rising to the forefront and pushing all else aside. 

Feeling his frustration build, Tony backed off mentally as he tugged at the neck of his shirt in an attempt to cool down. Breathing in deeply, he reined in his emotions and focused on centring himself. Something clicked, his awareness sharpening and his mind coolly analysing his surroundings and James’ movements at a glance. Instinct took over, blocking attacks and countering before he could even fully comprehend what he was going to do.

Seeing James’ eyes flicker and snag on something on his neck, he took the split second of opportunity and slashed forward. Focused as he was on attacking, Tony didn’t temper his strike and the knife skated across the flesh of James’ right arm blade first, moving to cut into his chest. James grimaced in surprised pain as blood bloomed bright on his shirt, red taking over white.

Immediately, Tony pulled away and ended his strike before it could reach further and cut into James’ neck and his carotid. Apologies springing from his lips, he rushed forward to inspect the wound and examine the damage he had inflicted.

“What the hell was that? Why didn’t you move?” Tony burst out, his fear rushing out as anger.

James waved off Tony’s panic, undeterred by the blood trickling down from his arm and chest.

“You did it, princess,” he congratulated. “A little farther and you would have been able to slice right through my artery and kill me. How do you feel?”

Tony didn’t answer, watching the stain spread across the cloth in a slow wave, soaking it and causing it to stick to James’ skin. Squaring his jaw, he grasped James’ forearm, tugging him towards the stairs. “Come on, let’s get that treated.”

“It’s fine, Tony. Leave it alone it’s just a flesh wound,” James resisted immediately, attempting to pulling his arm away. Tony tightened his grip. _Stubborn, idiotic man_.

“If that thing gets infected and festers, I’m going to tell Steve that his best friend died from an overdose of stupidity because no one, _especially_ someone who plays with knives the amount you do, would be naïve enough to not treat a bleeding wound. Do you want that?” Tony refused to let him go, staring into his eyes and daring James to refuse. He was not above using blackmail to get his way, and if Steve wasn’t a big enough threat he was going to pull out the big guns. “What would Dmitri say? Sarah? How are you going to explain it to them?”

Knowing he was beaten, James sighed, accepting the fact that he wasn’t going to get away anytime soon.

“God, you’re like a rabid dog with a bone,” he muttered, letting Tony lead the way upstairs. “Where did you learn that from?”

“Between you and Steve I have ample lessons in being as obstinate as a deaf mule,” Tony said, glancing back and eyes catching sight of the wound again. Looking at it, he couldn’t push away his guilt at hurting James. Rationally, he knew that this is what he had signed up for, that inevitably he would have to hurt and attack people. But it was harder coming to terms with that reality when he had such a graphic example of what that meant. Though he was around two violent gangsters almost constantly, Tony was rarely in the vicinity of actual violence, let alone the cause of injuries.

Arriving at the hallway, he deliberated, trying to figure out where in the house he would find the first aid supplies he needed to clean and bandage the wound. He didn’t want to waste time rummaging around while James continued to bleed freely.

“This way, Florence Nightingale,” James said, moving around him, a cloth pressed to his cut to stem the bleeding. “You would think that you knew the way to my room by now.”

Smiling at the nickname, Tony was relieved that James didn’t seem put out by the whole situation, teasing him as if everything was normal.

“Good sir,” Tony responded in a gasp, clutching at his chest like an old woman with her pearls. “I’ll have you know that I am not that kind of lady.”

James gave him a flat look. “Shut up and just follow me before I change my mind.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Tony quipped, saluting him.

Tony stuck close to James’ heels as they moved upstairs and deeper into the house. He looked around curiously as they passed the various rooms, his training confined to the basement and the kitchen so he wasn’t usually in this area of the residence. It was a tasteful home, with heavy dark furniture like those had been in James’ study and living room but it was mostly empty. It didn’t really look like James had anyone around here but himself. Tony wondered if he was lonely, living here by himself. Or was he usually with Natasha?

Walking into a bedroom, Tony realized he didn’t really know what James got up to when he was all by himself. A large, dark wood frame bed dominated the space, tousled white sheets looking like someone had just rolled out. Did James have a lover he shared the bed with? There was a landscape painting hanging above it, depicting a forest, rolling hills and a castle in the distance. Tony wouldn’t have pegged James to be the type with art in his bedroom. He had honestly expected it to have a more military neatness to it and few personal objects. Instead, there were little knickknacks strewn about here and there that hinted at aspects of James that he didn’t usually let people see.

There were two frames on the bedside table farthest from the door. One was an old photo of a family at the beach, their eyes squinting in the sun but grins bright. The other was a drawing of three stick figures, two with dark clouds by their head and another with red—which Tony assumed was supposed to represent hair. By the farthest wall, there was a wardrobe and a dresser on one side, with a mirror and various objects scattered along the surface. Loose change, a watch and what looked like a very old but well taken care of Matryoshka Doll. The other side had large windows with half of the curtains pulled to the side to let in the late afternoon light.

Tony followed the sound of running water to the bathroom, finding James in front of a running tap with a bottle of vodka by his elbow. He was looking at the wound in the mirror above the sink, a hand tracing its path from his arm up to where it cut in a swerving line to his neck. Standing next to him, Tony took in the image of them side by side, him shorter and slighter in comparison to James build. Even covered in a light sheen of sweat from their hours of training, hair standing every which way and blood staining his clothes, James looked beautiful and dangerous.

His body was fit and muscled in all the right places and, after months of being in intimate contact with it in the ring, Tony knew that it was every bit as strong as it looked. Wide shoulders went down to a slim waist and flowed into powerful thighs strengthened by years of physical activity. Even knowing that he was fully committed to Steve and would never anything to jeopardize that relationship, Tony could admit that James was an exquisite temptation.

And after knowing how good his touch felt, it had been hard work resisting that temptation as they continued to work closely together after these long months. It was bad enough when James had been distant because then Tony felt more cautious about letting his guard down. But the more time passed, the easier they were around each other and Tony had found out that he actually _liked_ James. He liked his wicked sense of humour, his patience when Tony was triggered, even the way he infuriated him and never gave him an easy win.

Watching him in the mirror, Tony was tempted to reach out and cup his face in his hands and soothe away the little marks that revealed his pain. Brush his lips against the slight divot between his brows…the tightness around his eyes…the flat set of his lips. Tony would settle in right there, brushing his lips over James and pulling away every time he tried to deepen the light caress. And then when James got impatient and buried his hand in Tony’s hair, preventing him from going anywhere he would smile and give in, because he had won. He would open for him eagerly, let James invade his mouth and twine their tongues together and victory would taste so good.

A finger touched him on the neck, shocking Tony out of his thoughts as he jerked reflexively and slapped a hand over the spot.

“He really got you, didn’t he?” James asked, pulling his hand away.

“What?” Tony squinted at him in confusion and James nodded to where Tony’s hand was still holding his neck. Focusing on his own reflection in the mirror, Tony’s eye caught sight of the dark red lovemark that Steve had sucked on him before he had left. He had forgotten about it, but it was clearly displayed from the way Tony had pulled at his shirt before, cocking the neck unevenly.

“Yea, he was in a good mood today and we kinda got carried away.” Touching it, Tony immediately felt guilty for his thoughts about James, who was not only Steve’s best friend, but _his_ friend now too. Clearing his throat, he changed the subject, trying to get himself back on track and way from his daydreams. “You keep alcohol in your bathroom?”

James snorted. “I keep alcohol everywhere. But I thought it would help with the cleaning up.” He offered the bottle and Tony took it, drinking straight from the neck. When he came back up for air, he found James watching with a smirk and raised brows. 

“If you’re thirsty, I can get you’re your own bottle.”

“Even a whole bottle won’t give me the guidance I need to do this,” Tony muttered, too soft for James to hear. But he just rolled his eyes and handed the bottle back.

Using the little bit of liquid courage he had ingested, he moved his hands to the front of James’ shirt, preparing to undo his buttons.

James raised his hands to hold Tony’s, pulling them away gently. “I can do that myself.”

“You shouldn’t be moving your arm more than necessary,” Tony countered calmly, “it causes it to bleed more.”

James shook his head in a negative. “Still, I can do it.” One by one he went down his chest, shirt opening to reveal a sleeveless undershirt beneath. The blood had already started drying in some areas and causing the shirt to stick more firmly to James skin so Tony reached out to very gently peel the fabric away. That done, he moved back to give James space to pull it the rest of the way off. When he did, Tony stared at the swirling tattoo that was revealed, part of it still hidden by the undershirt. It rose from James' chest to flow down his arm in a path that continued uninterrupted until it ended just above his elbow.

A compass sat high on his shoulder, its form the beginning of the circles that radiated outward in intertwining lines. It circled his arm in what looked like diagonal lines from one angle but were actually a beautiful amalgam of concentric circles filled with variating patterns. It was stunning, both symmetrical yet chaotic, the markings a stark black against James skin.

On the inner side, hidden amongst the patterns drawn inside the circular bands was a sentence that tracked along in tiny letters. A message secreted away. Without thought, Tony’s hand reached out to touch the dark markings, his fingers itching to trace their way over the patterns that arched and curved in sharp turns over his muscles.

“Til the end of the line…” Tony read out slowly. “What does that mean?”

James’ jaw clenched and he didn’t answer, silently taking another drink and handing Tony a clean towel soaked with water to dab at the wound on his right arm.

Understanding that he didn’t want to talk about it, Tony took the towel with one hand, grasping James’ arm with the other as he gently cleaned the blood that had started to cake around the cut. Examining the ragged edges of the cut, he took the bottle of vodka from James again and splashed some on the wound. Hopefully, that would take care of the chances of infection.

James hissed at the burn. “A little warning would have been nice, Florence.”

“Maybe I’m not nice,” Tony said, blowing lightly at the stinging wound.

“You’re playing nursemaid right now so it seems you _are_ nice,” James scoffed. “Still so innocent.”

“Nice boys don’t kill their fathers, James,” Tony returned, not looking up from where he was dabbing at the cut.

Thankfully, James was right. The cut looked worse than it was and the bleeding had already eased up. Tony debated whether to put in stitches. The arm looked fine but the cut across James’ chest was a little wider and deeper. Deciding better safe than sorry, Tony gathered the materials he needed to stitch the skin while James sat and drank more vodka to numb his awareness of the wound.

Fitting the needle to the skin, he kept his stitches small and neat, wincing in sympathy of how uncomfortable it must feel and feeling bad all over again. Tending to James reminded him of those moments when he had to treat his wounds from Howard’s ham-handed fists. Those times he had to wake up in the morning and getting Peter up for school, open the shop and serve customers—all while his ribs ached and wishing he could just lie down and sleep.

“I guess you’re right. Nice boys don’t fall in love with mobsters either,” James continued thoughtfully. He brought his hand up to tilt Tony’s face to meet his eyes. “You don’t want to be a nice boy anyway. Nice boys don’t have any fun.”

Tony smiled at the joking, his eyes following the path of the hand on his chin up the tattooed arm to land again on the words there. He knew there was a story there and against his good sense, Tony wanted to push James to tell it to him. The Russian rarely ever spoke about himself and even now Tony didn’t know much about him than what he had learned from others. He wouldn’t have known about Harley or Natasha if Pepper and Steve hadn’t stepped in, but now that he knew he could clearly see the huge effect that those two had in James life. It was clear from all this that James took care to keep the parts of his heart locked up tight. Resigning himself to unsatisfied curiosity, Tony finished up his stitches.

Pulling away, he purposefully grabbed the ruined shirt, shaking it out and inspecting it. Parts of it were still salvageable, so he took a knife from James and cut bandages from the clean area. Ready to start dressing the wound and tying it off, he stepped close again.

“It means forever,” James said abruptly, voice rough with emotion.

Tony looked up distractedly, thinking about how best to secure the bandage. “What does?”

“Til the end of the line.” Tony froze with his hands on James’ arm.

“It means I promise you forever,” he said. “If you are lost, I will come find you. If you are disheartened, I will give you my joy. If you are dead, I die with you so we can be born together again. It means forever, I am with you.”

Tony pulled away, hands hovering in front of him awkwardly. “Those sound like marriage vows.”

James smiled and Tony felt his breath get taken away at the heartbreak he saw there, the deep sadness. “For me, it was.”

Freezing as the words filtered in, Tony struggled to process that information. There was only one person those vows could be for and he didn’t know what to do with that unwanted insight. Forcing his hands to finish up the bandage, he stared out with unseeing eyes as his mind whirled with what James was trying to tell him.

He had thought they had finally moved past this point, that they had reached an equilibrium that all three satisfied by. James and Steve were friends again, acting as if nothing had happened. He and Steve were still happy together and very much in love. He and James were building a friendship together and genuinely enjoyed the other’s company. Unless none of that was as it seemed. Had he been wrong this whole time? Was he the only one who had thought that they were finally at a space where they could be happy?

“How does that feel?” he choked out, patting the bandage and blinking back tears furiously.

“It feels fine, but Tony—” James reached out to grab him and Tony evaded his hands, not sure if he could handle being touched right now. His world was shifting. 

“Is it Steve?” Tony forced out, needing to hear him say it, needing to be sure. “Do you still love him?”

James watched him for a moment, eyes reading the emotions painted on Tony’s face that he was trying his best to suppress, to hide away the way he would in training. He needed to be able to pack away this feeling, to compartmentalize for later because right now he couldn’t breathe from the ache in his chest. He could lose this, this friendship, this comradery that he had never expected to have with this man. The man he had claimed as his friend, his teacher, as family only a few days ago. He could lose James.

“Yes.” And with that one word, Tony knew they were never going to be able to go back from this point.

Ready to flee, he flinched back when James pulled at him, but the other man didn’t stop, dragging Tony into his arms. A hand stroked up his back, just like every time before when he needed James to help calm him down. Unwilling to be soothed, he wanted to push away, wanted to claw and fight and _hurt_ to match his hurt but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move, frozen with indecision as he fought with himself, struggling to know what to do.

James just kept his hold firm, unwilling to let Tony go and he couldn’t deny the comfort he drew from the familiar embrace. The way he fit in James’ arms made him feel protected and cherished in a way that he knew was fake, but he couldn’t resist it. He didn’t want to. Instead, he focused on the warm pass of James’ hand against his back, drawing in deep breaths and gradually relaxing enough to let James hold him up. Let him offer comfort and safety as he had so many times before.

“I’m sorry,” Tony felt the words breathed into his hair and he squeezed his eyes closed at the tears that threatened. _He didn’t want to lose him_.

James’ vow played over in his head, his despairing expression that spoke of an acceptance that he didn’t want and Tony knew that he wasn’t the only one hurting here.

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around James, returning the comfort the other man had never hesitated to give. Even as his heart shattered at the knowledge of everything he might have to give up. 

“I’m sorry, too,” Tony whispered back.

* * *

Steve was waiting for Tony in the bedroom when he came home. Smiling when Tony froze in the doorway, he felt proud of his handiwork even though it had been humiliating to go to Natasha to ask for romantic advice. Luckily, she hadn’t given him too much grief.

When Tony had headed out to training earlier today, Steve couldn’t resist the urge to mark him, sucking a fresh lovemark on his neck before he left. He knew that Tony didn’t remember the exact day, distracted as he had been with juggling the shop and Howard’s drunkenness. But Steve did, and the knowledge made him feel extra possessive of his lover, wanting everyone to know he belonged to him. 

Steve had headed to Natasha’s brothel soon after, taking the parcel packed with all the things they had spoken about and a few extra gifts that Steve planned to make use of.

The room was lit with the soft golden light of candles that had been positioned in various places around the space. On the bedside table was a bouquet of roses surrounded by a collection of blown glass bottles in rainbow colours, the air lightly scented with the cigar that Natasha had thought to pack him.

Steve got up from where he was laying on the bed, pulling off the glasses he was using to read through the reports as he waited for Tony. Satisfaction welled at the success of his surprise, melding with the anticipation that had been building within him all day.

“What’s all this?” Tony asked, shaken. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the candles and flowers, coming back to Steve as an amazed smile wiped away the pinched look on his face.

But Steve had already seen it and he walked over to Tony worried, reaching out to grasp him by the hand and pull him further in the room.

“What’s wrong?” He said seriously, staring down at Tony in his arms. “Did something happen at training? Do I need to kick James’ ass?”

Shaking his head, Tony stepped into Steve’s space, tiptoeing to press a kiss on his lips. “No, it’s nothing.” Pulling away he quirked an eyebrow. “Besides, today I kicked his ass all by myself, thank you very much. Besides you never answered my question. What _is_ all this?”

Letting him get away with it, for now, Steve pushed his hand through Tony’s curls and held him close, dark blue meeting honey brown as he drawled his words in the bare space between them.

“Happy anniversary, beautiful.” Tony’s eyes widened when he realized what he meant, filling with tears as he understood that this was all to celebrate their meeting a year ago.

At the time, neither of them had thought that their lives would lead them here. Steve had seen a young man being abused by his father and had just stepped in on a whim he couldn’t refuse. At first, he had just wanted to save someone who he had seen going through the same abuse he had, seeing people turn a blind eye to the bruises that littered Tony’s body the way they had ignored whatever new abuse Joseph had inflicted on Steve.

When it had all started, Steve just wanted to keep his eyes on the situation, having Tony deliver sandwiches and coffee to the office as a pretext to keep track of what was going on. Instead, he had gotten more involved than he had ever planned to. When he saw Tony running his parents’ business to make sure they had income and paid their protection payments on time, or the way Tony took all the beatings so his brother wouldn’t become hurt, Steve fell hard and fast. He fell in love with Tony’s strength, his loyalty, his will to survive not only for himself but for the ones he loved who depended on him.

A year ago, Steve would have never known that the man standing in front of him would be one of the most important people in his world, the one responsible for filling his heart with warmth and love and a gentleness he had never felt. He had never thought to expect Tony Stark in his life, and yet it was the best surprise he could have been given.

Bending down to kiss the man who owned his heart, Steve felt happy and fulfilled. He delighted in the way Tony’s hands came up to curl around his neck, threading through the hair at his nape as they kissed appreciatively, reverent of the gift they had been given in each other. Steve let his hands sweep down Tony’s body, grabbing him by the hips and pulling them closer together as he sipped at his lips, tasting the vodka that lingered there.

Curiosity sparked, but Steve pushed it away for another time, wanting to focus on now. Instead, he ended the kiss to press his forehead against Tony’s, sharing his breath, enjoying the feeling of his body in his arms. They stood there for a long moment, appreciating everything they had been through, fought through to survive this far. They had had a hell of a year, but they had made it together and whatever else that came to them in the future, at least they had that.

Eventually pulling away, he set Tony on his heels and pushed his jacket off of his shoulders. “Go rinse off, I have a surprise for you.” He ordered, stopping Tony’s hands where they had reached up to help remove Steve’s shirt.

“Ooo, even more surprises. Exciting.” Smiling happily, Tony walked to the attached bathroom already unbuttoning his shirt. “Don’t miss me too much.” He called out, throwing a cheeky wink over his shoulder.

Waiting until he heard the shower running, Steve walked over to the glass bottles on the table, opening each and smelling the different scents of the oils. Picking one that reminded him of Tony, the oil smelling of orange blossoms mixed with water lilies, he set it aside and he draped a new sheet over the covers of the bed. It was new and silky cool and would be ruined by the end of the night, but he didn’t care. Sheets could be replaced.

Soon enough, Tony returned, smelling of water and soap, stray drops still trickling down his skin in leisurely paths. He had a towel wrapped haphazardly around his hips and was towelling another vigorously through his wet hair. Dropping it to the floor carelessly, he approached Steve where he was by the bed, leaning up to steal another light kiss.

“Where do you want me?” he whispered.

Steve felt anticipation thrum through his veins as he gave into the temptation and pulled the teasing towel away from Tony’s hips, baring his body to his eyes. He was still slightly than Steve, but the training over the last four months had added an additional level of muscle to his form. He was trim and firm in all the right places, his skin a light tan that made Steve just want to stroke all over. His cock was already half-hard, revealing that he was just as excited as Steve to celebrate their anniversary the right way.

Resisting the urge to just take him right then, Steve stepped aside for Tony to climb on the bed. He did so eagerly, splaying out on his back on the sheet, wiggling around it to feel the drag of it on his skin.

Laughing at the happy hums that spilt out, Steve ordered Tony on his front. “No pillow, head turned to the side. Spread your legs a bit and leave your arms flat at your sides.” Tony’s eyes watching him as he positioned his body to Steve’s specifications, shivering a little at being ordered around, at the idea of Steve in control of his body.

Steve pulled off his pyjama top, enjoying the way that appreciative way Tony’s eyes traced over his bared skin. The air heated with their need, the feeling that there was only the two of them that existed in the world intensifying their focus on each other. Ignoring the way he hardened at Tony’s gaze, Steve took his time pouring the oil on his hands, letting it warm with his body heat as he kneeled on the bed.

Straddling the tops of Tony’s thighs, he made sure to keep his weight concentrated on his knees and on the bed, rather than on Tony’s lighter body. Beginning at the top of his spine, Steve placed his oil-slick hands on the shower warmed skin of Tony’s back, spreading the oil in smooth strokes. Enjoying the feeling of having his hands on Tony, he started exerting firm pressure, digging in his thumbs and massaging the muscle there.

“Oh, Goood,” Tony moaned out. His eyes fluttered close and he turned himself over to Steve’s care, and Steve thrilled at the knowledge that this man who had been so guarded and wary when they had met now trusted him so implicitly.

Steve swept his hands along the curve of Tony’s shoulders, applying pressure and using his hands to squeeze the flesh of his upper arms. He then pressed both hands flat on Tony’s back as he brought both hands back to the centre, enjoying the feeling of the relaxed body under his hands, the noises that Tony made making his pleasure known. Positioning his thumbs back at the top of Tony’s spine, he dragged them down the long stretch of Tony’s back, his larger hands reaching all the way across by the time he reached his waist.

He let out a chuckle when Tony arched up into his hands, enjoying the treatment and demanding more. Steve savoured the opportunity to spend this time spoiling Tony, to touch him at his heart’s content with no timetable to worry about. With everything that had been going on recently, they had both had a lot on their plates and had not had much time—or energy—for this type of leisurely intimacy.

Having Tony under his hands was a pleasure for Steve too, a reality that his body was making clear for him, and he adjusted himself as moved to the side to continue massaging the back of Tony’s legs and arms. He adored coaxing out moans of his lover when he dug into a particularly sore spot, delighted in the sigh of relief Tony made as the knots in his body were attacked and soothed into submission.

Saving the best for last, Steve palmed both sides of Tony’s ass in his hands, squeezing the muscles there decisively. He smiled when he heard Tony’s surprised moan, his lover’s boneless body submitting to whatever Steve had in mind.

“I intend to be incredibly thorough,” Steve informed him.

“I find attention to detail incredibly arousing,” Tony encouraged breathlessly, pushing himself more firmly in Steve’s hands.

“Glad we agree.” Pulling his cheeks apart, Steve admired the sight of Tony’s tightly furled rosebud. Encouraging Tony to rise up on his knees, he grasped the oil bottle in his slippery hand and upended some right above the hole, watching it trickle down and wet the entrance to Tony’s body tantalizingly. Tony jerked when he felt the cool drizzle, but Steve held him still, waiting for the oil to pool in the crevice. He reached up to stroke his fingers at the pretty pink bud, circling it with one finger in and tugging lightly at the rim.

“Yes!” Ignoring Tony’s needy cry, Steve poured more oil over his fingers, pushing in one finger and stroking at Tony’s heated insides. Tony thrust up into his hand almost immediately, his ass clenching around his finger gleefully and wanting more. Steve fit another, then another, fucking into Tony with his fingers until he was riding his hand needily.

“Please, Steve,” Tony pleaded, his need having steadily risen over the course of the massage and the finger fucking. Curling his fingers, Steve searched for Tony’s prostate, massaging it firmly when he found it, pushing Tony’s need higher and higher.

“God, yes, just like that,” Tony moaned, mindlessly thrusting his hips back into Steve’s hand. Steve knew he could get him off like this, let Tony ride his fingers to his completion and feel him clench around them as he came.

But Steve wasn’t done.

“Turn over,” he ordered, pulling out his fingers.

“Nooo,” Tony protested, but after Steve made no move to continue, he reluctantly obeyed.

“You said to be thorough,” Steve taunted him, knowing exactly how close Tony had been, but he enjoyed keeping him dancing on that knife’s edge too much to stop.

Flopping over on his back, Tony pouted up at Steve but Steve just ignored it and grabbed another bottle of oil, this one marked differently. One of Natasha’s special gifts. Not opening it yet, he placed it next to Tony’s head as he moved between his spread thighs, taking care not to press his hard cock against Tony’s in case this was over too soon.

Leaning down, he gave into the desire to kiss Tony, readily sinking into the familiar taste of his mouth. Unhesitatingly, Tony arched up into the kiss, opening his mouth for Steve’s tongue to tangle with his, his hips thrusting up to rub his weeping cock against Steve’s hip. Pushing his hips down firmly, Steve allowed Tony to bring up his arms to hold onto him, both of them unwilling to end the kiss just yet. Licking into Tony’s mouth, Steve drank down the moans the helplessly spilled from Tony’s lips, relishing the desperate sounds when Steve sucked at his delicious lower lip.

Nipping it playfully as he pulled away, Steve dragged his mouth to the dark mark he had sucked on Tony’s neck earlier, the bruise a claim announcing that he belonged to Steve. He soothed the red mark with his tongue, before following the flow of Tony’s neck to suck more kisses along the column possessively. Tony was his. They belonged to each other and Steve made sure to mark his ownership clearly.

Working his way farther down, he laved his tongue against Tony’s dark nipples, holding him down when he tried to buck up into his mouth. Twirling his tongue around the trembling peak, Steve sucked at them hard, one after another, causing Tony to cry out. He released them reluctantly, pulling away with a light graze of his teeth.

Looking down at his panting lover, Steve reached out for the bottle he had placed near him earlier, spilling out a few drops of the mint smelling oil right on both of his straining tips. The oil had a tingling, cooling effect, a dramatic change from the heated sensitivity Tony had been wrestling with before. He watched avidly as Tony’s face morphed from uncertainty and to confused pleasure, his lover writhing as he struggled to absorb the new sensation.

“Steve _please_ , no more teasing, please just fuck me,” Tony begged.

Tony was so beautiful, overloaded with pleasure. His eyes were blown, the black of his pupils swallowing up the honey of his eyes until there was just a slim golden ring. His skin glistened in the candlelight, his cock hard and weeping, inviting hands to touch and stroke his flesh to their heart's content.

Kissing Tony again, Steve drank down his sounds of pleasure as he simultaneously plucked at his nipples, his calluses scraping gently over the delicate flesh and driving Tony mad.

“Okay, lovely,” Steve murmured calmingly. “I’ve got you.”

He quickly moved off the bed to remove his pyjama pants, at this point streaked and stained with random drops of oil. He stroked himself once before squeezing the base to push back his own arousal. The slow, torturous pace had been a pleasurable hell, though up to this point he had been doing a good job ignoring his own reaction.

Tony positioned his feet flat on the bed, opening his legs wide for Steve who slipped between his spread legs, one hand slicking himself up.

Fitting himself to Tony’s entrance, his way was eased by the preparation he had done earlier and he pushed the head in easily. Sinking down in a deep, sure slide, both of them groaned when Steve bottomed out. Revelling in the tight heat, Steve forced himself to stay still to allow Tony to adjust to his thickness.

When his lover started making little movements with his hips, squirming on Steve’s cock, Steve gave in to the urge to move. They built up the tempo slowly, but things quickly devolved out of control, their combined need driving them to move faster.

“Hold on to the headboard,” Steve gritted out, and Tony quickly reached out to grab it with his hands.

Steve snapped his hips forward, driving into Tony hard and watching him unravel further beneath him, his body shaking with the need to come. He grasped his chin, pulling Tony’s face upwards to look into his pleasure drunk eyes. He felt a dark thrill of satisfaction at knowing that his lover was drowning in sensation, incoherent and overwhelmed with his need to come. Their lips met in a biting kiss, teeth clashing as they continued to fuck, but they were too needy to care at the messiness of the kiss.

Dragging his hand from Tony’s chin to his chest, Steve grabbed his nipples and twisted just a little too hard, pushing Tony straight over the edge. Jerking away from the kiss, Tony cried out, back bowing as he clenched around Steve in a tight vise. He undulated his hips mindlessly as he tried to milk out every inch of his pleasure. Riding him through it, Steve was dragged down soon after, unable to resist the way that Tony squeezed around his cock, demanding his come. Leaning down, he sank his teeth into Tony’s neck right over the already bruised flesh, smothering his own groan of completion in his skin.

Pulling out slowly, Steve went into the bathroom to get a bowl of warm water and a cloth, gently cleaning Tony before prodding him upright so Steve could move the extra sheets. That done, he pulled Tony down beside him on the bed, letting the smaller man cuddle up half on top of him as they tangled together in a sated, sweaty heap.

“Good anniversary?” Steve asked, brushing a kiss over Tony’s forehead.

“Amazing anniversary,” Tony murmured.

He rallied his strength to brace himself on an elbow, hovering over Steve with one hand placed over his chest.

“I am grateful everyday for the fact that you came into my life,” he said seriously, staring down at Steve, his eyes affectionate and earnest. “I love you so much. Thank you for such a wonderful night, I couldn’t have thought of a better way to celebrate us.” He kissed Steve tenderly, like he was making a promise, a vow. And Steve kissed him back, swearing himself to this man, to this love.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies, I needed something good while the world continues to implode so I'm posting. For all the black folks who might be reading this or on AO3's server, I hope you are safe and whole and my thoughts and prayers are standing with you. #JusticeforGeorgeFloyd

“Hey, Tasha, pass me the reefer.”

Natasha scowls, but she hands over the cigaret. “I’m running a business, not a charity.”

James rolls his eyes, pulling a deep drag of blue sage. He held in his lungs, trying to absorb as much of the high before exhaling. “I’m your boss.” Natasha just looks at him with her glass of wine in her hands, green eyes trying to intimidate him into submission. 

“That didn’t work six years ago and it’s not going to work now,” he warned, referencing when she had turned up at his door soon after his parents’ death. Those days are a painful blur now, grief and whiskey-soaked memories that he only revisited on the day of the anniversary of their death.

Natasha’s arrival and the preparations they needed to make in order to raise one-year-old Harley had forced James to get his act together and he had leapt on the process with a renewed sense of purpose. He was thankful to her, but he wasn’t just going to roll over and let her get whatever she wanted. He _won’t._

Natasha keeps staring at him, seemingly having mastered the art of not blinking.

He gives in. “Fine, I’ll bring you more next week,” he sighs. They’ve been playing _Sorry!_ for the last half hour and it was still anyone’s game. It was good that they hadn’t pulled out _Monopoly_ because he would’ve never recovered from the humiliation. You would think someone of his substantial business experience would have the upper hand or even be on an even footing with Natasha.

You would be wrong.

Natasha smiled smugly. “That’s why you’re my favourite cousin,” she said, blowing him a cheeky kiss. 

James snorts, moving one of his pieces. “I’m your only cousin.” Thankfully.

He reached up to rub at his shoulder, the newly healing skin still tender and tight. The weed helped with the discomfort some, blurring the edges of his pain enough that he wasn’t as aware of the wound. It didn’t eradicate it altogether, but it allowed him to relax more fully. He had checked the stitches this morning and they were surprisingly competent, neat and tiny in a way that indicated that this wasn’t the first time that Tony had to sew up skin.

Thinking of Tony made his chest swirl with a confusing mix of emotion. He was proud of how far Tony had come, the assurance which with he wielded his body as a weapon a natural instinct now. He was decisive in his movements and didn’t hesitate to strike fast and cleverly at whatever obstruction was in his way, his confidence in his abilities flourishing along with his skills. James thought back to the way that Tony had ordered him around, bullying him into taking care of himself. James hadn’t allowed anyone to do that other than Sarah when he was a kid. The fact that he had allowed Tony to do it surprised even him, but when he had been standing there staring down at the stubborn set of his jaw, lower lip pushed out in the slightest pout, James hadn’t been able to say no.

It was a far cry from where he started, but the better Tony got, the more aware James was of the fact that he was preparing Tony to go out and put himself at risk. A concerning reality that Tony didn’t seem worried about.

Don’t get him wrong, he admired the way that Tony faced his challenges head-on, even when they were things he’d never tried before. When James had first proposed rock climbing, he had thought Tony was going to throw up at the mere thought of going up and down the rough cliff face. Instead, he had gritted his teeth and persevered past his fear, harnessing himself and moving upward steadily. By the time he finished, Tony’s muscles were visibly shaking from the exertion, but it was hard to focus on anything other than the blinding smile on his face. A smile with just enough smugness to invite James to do things he shouldn’t.

James admitted that he continued to propose crazy challenges to continue to see that look on Tony’s face. To see him clench his jaw in determination as he focused so completely on his task that the outside world ceased to exist. To see the way he lit up with excitement and pride at his accomplishments. It was exciting to see which option would finally get Tony to back off and say it was too much. But he never had, even when James had suggested using him as target practice. He had no intention of actually shooting Tony, but had proposed that Tony had to determine the angle of the shots James was making and where would be the best places to take cover. Then he had to do so under fire.

After that experience, James had ended up more worried about Tony’s safety than Tony was. The sheer amount of trust he had put in James—completely putting his life in James’ hands—had both shaken and humbled him. Ultimately, it made him want to be a man worthy of that trust.

He hadn’t told Tony this but the young man was better than just good. In the mere months that they’ve been training together, Tony had mastered the skills James had been pounding in him. While the rate of which he learned was terrifying, it meant that Tony could probably hold his own against someone even of James’ level of training at this point.

Seeing a moment of opportunity, James took his piece and knocked Natasha’s out of his way, forcing it back to Start gleefully. Another roll of the dice and he could get one of his pieces into the Safe Zone, the second not too far off. Things were looking up for him. Taking another pull, he watched as she grabbed up the dice in her hands, the rattle of them against each other soothingly domestic. Natasha had lovely hands, slim long fingers that just seemed to do everything gracefully. Like Tony’s hands.

In the dreamy haze of the high, he reminisced over the way Tony’s hands that had dabbed at his cut, wiping away the blood and vodka that surrounded the wound delicately and precisely. Slim fingers brushing over his skin, calluses from his training scratching at James’ tattooed marks, made him want to arch into the light touch and feel it on more intimate parts of him. Tony had beautiful, capable hands that handled blades and needles with the same attentive adeptness that James’ suspected he would touch a lover with, and when he had stared at James markings with undisguised wonder in his face, James had felt more wanted and appreciated than he had in a while. It would have been so easy to just dip his head and brush Tony’s lips with the same softness his hand had used on James’ arm.

James was distracted from his daydreams by Natasha rolling two doubles in a row and getting all her pieces moved into the Safe Zone. “Fuck you, you won again.” Unlike his fighting words, his voice was lazy, deepened from his smoking.

“I always do, I’m surprised you expected anything different,” Natasha returned, completely unfazed by his bitterness.

“So modest.” He drawled, setting up the board again. Maybe if he switches colours he’ll have more luck. He picks yellow this time. Yellow is happy colour, happy colours have more chances for winning.

“I learned from the best.” She finished her drink and he gets two minutes’ respite as she refills her glass. “Okay, so tell me about your boy.”

James fakes nonchalance. “There is no boy,” he says with finality, concentrating on moving his pieces on the board and hoping she’ll just drop it. But like all his female family members, she is completely incapable of minding her own business. 

“Stop acting like I’m one of your lackeys you can just intimidate into submission, James Romanov,” she says, unimpressed. “You’ve been looking at Steve Rogers with the same lovestruck eyes since you were 15 years old and that hasn’t changed no matter how much you try to convince yourself it has.”

James winced as those words hit too close to home, reminding him vividly of the conversation he had with Tony in his bathroom.

He had never meant to admit that much, at times forgetting the words he had marked on his skin in a fit of madness. They had been inked on a few years ago, after he and Steve had shared another night together as they occasionally did. Long-buried feelings had sprung to the surface and James had realized that he was still very much in love with his best friend. Hopeful of the way their night together had been comfortable and fun and oh so good, James had believed that this time they could try again seriously. This time would be the time that lasts.

But then came Tony. Tony with his tragic backstory and who had needed their help. Tony who still had the ability to be kind and show love and affection even with the darkness he carried in his heart. Tony who caught the heart of the man James loved and who he should hate, but didn’t. _Couldn’t_. He couldn’t hate someone who he shared so much in common with and the last few months had illustrated to James just how alike he and Tony truly were.

“And I’m sorry to tell you this because it looks like you really don’t want to face up to it,” Natasha continued her words unerringly in line with James’ thoughts. “But you’re looking at that curly-haired beauty the same way.”

James stiffened defensively. “If you mean Tony, _Steve’s lover_ , then I regret to inform you that it’s much less interesting than you seem to think it is. I’m just teaching him some skills so he doesn’t get himself killed. In fact, it’s more like a pet project, a time-wasting activity, a small bit of fun. It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Natasha replied succinctly. “If he was just a student, you wouldn’t have freaked out the way you did when he caused that explosion—”

“Now wait a minute” he interjects but she rolls right over him, speaking louder. “Don’t you lie to me, it was the exact same kind of tone you use when you complain of Steve doing something bullheaded and risky. One of those things he excels at that gets you all scared for his safety like anything could really harm that indestructible hippo.”

James snorted at Natasha’s irreverent words that alluded to the way that Steve just liked to leap into attack mode suddenly, but his mind was on the many Tony Incidents.

James would never admit it, but when he felt the explosion rock the house, his heart had leapt to his throat and he had been terrified that something serious had happened to curly Italian. He had sprung away from his desk and sprinted down the hall, only to find the ridiculous man lurking safely around the corner from the blast. He was no worse for wear, grinning up at James unrepentantly with flour lightly dusting his clothes and honey gold eyes bright with laughter. James had told himself that the pounding of his heart had been caused by the shock, and had scolded Tony for making a mess of his kitchen. A mess that they both cleaned up together.

When Tony had come to him for training, James had never thought he would end up developing an honest fondness for the boy. Unlike Steve who was all out stubborn when he wanted to be, James and Tony were only _selectively_ stubborn. They made their stand in the things that they wanted to get done, but otherwise, they let things play out the way that they were meant to and adjusting on the fly if they needed to. Even when it wasn’t something Tony could ever have expected, he threw himself into it, determined to excel and try new things. He kept pushing forward, wanting to create his own future with a competitive drive that James could respect. Somewhere along the way, respect had changed into something more, helped along by the witty, mischievous sense of humour that Tony displayed as he became more comfortable. Even when that feisty sense of humour led him to ruin kitchens, James enjoyed the mocking rapport that flowed between them, making him laugh or firing up his own competitive spirit in equal measures.

Now that he was high and enlightened by the way he was feeling, he understood why Harley was bought with a day in the park and a hug. There was just something about Tony Stark that made him able to worm his way into your heart and set up shop. James knew that he wasn’t in love with Tony, but it wouldn’t take much for him to be all the way gone on him.

Even so. “It doesn’t matter,” he insists.

Natasha smiles softly. “You should tell them.”

He scoffs but she just keeps smiling in that gentle sisterly way that only she could—and chooses to—pull off on special occasions. “I’m serious.”

He sighs despondently. “I know you are, but you don’t understand. I’ve already talked to Steve about this remember? A year ago, and he made it very clear that he was in love with Tony. You’ve seen them, the adoring way they look at each other. I’ve never seen anything so sappy.”

“Ring ring,” she mimics picking up a phone. “James, it’s the rich white men of America paying their fair share of taxes. They want their bitter back.”

Laughing at his scowl, she poked a finger to the wrinkles on his forehead. “Come on, they’re just two people in love, there’s nothing wrong with that. All I’m saying is that you tell _them—_ not just Steve—that you have feelings for them. Have you ever considered that it’s okay to love more than one person at the same time? Not just share them between you sexually? I think Steve and Tony might be open to you joining them, rather than you trying to be with just one of them.”

“Again, theoretical happy ending aside, they’re happy. They don’t need me complicating things.” He flicked a bit of ash off his pants leg, trying and failing not to imagine what being between Tony and Steve would feel like. Not just the sex—he already knew that would be amazing—but what it would be like to wake up to them in the morning, a body on each side of him warm and sleepy. Having people who filled his empty dinner table with their presence, his empty rooms with their clothes and books and knickknacks. Who would play with Harley with him, or be there when he remembered that all of his family members were dead. Who would create a home out of his house and create a new family with him. It was an alluring dream that made his heart ache with want.

She hums in response to his words. “Have you ever thought that they might want you to complicate things? For what it’s worth, I see the way they look at you, Yasha and I think it’s worth the risk.”

“Okay,” he held up his hands in a ‘wait’ motion, all of this moving too fast for him. “But even if things went fine, being with them would mean putting another target on their backs, putting them further at risk. I could never forgive myself if they got hurt because my inclusion made things more difficult for us to even exist in peace. Look what happened to Steve.” She can’t dismiss that straight out of hand, that had been a terrifying incident for them all.

Natasha shrugged, apparently not as broken up about it as he thought. “He survived and now he’s thriving. As I see it, they’re already living in sin according to this screwed up world we live in. It shouldn’t make that much difference to live in sin with one more, right? Yes, you _might_ have additional enemies but you definitely have more allies, more protection and those are odds you can bet on. Besides, with the way you’re telling me young Tony is progressing, I think if either of you were attacked he would be a force to be reckoned with. I don’t think he’d just stand around waiting to get shot this time.”

She reaches out to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Yasha, you held onto your secret feelings for Steve for 15 years, and you lost him and I know you’re still broken up about that. But you’re ready to take another shot at this. Maybe it’s time you stop being so scared of love, yea?” 

James sighed, afraid to even dare to hope because he knew what heartbreak was really like and he didn’t want to go through the process all over again when he was finally feeling like himself. “Tasha, everyone I loved except for you and Harley, has died. Ma, Da, Rebecca, Rachel, Ravenna, they’re all dead.”

She cups his face in her hands, bringing their foreheads together. “Death is inevitable, my darling. But at least our family knew that we loved them when they passed right? They died _loved_. You can try to protect yourself and lock your heart away Yasha, but it’s going to hurt whether or not you tell them. Because whether you want to face it or not, you do love them.” She lets him go, patting at his cheek patronizingly but with a teasing tilt to her eyes. “So gather up your courage like the big tough mob lord you are, and when we go to this big happy family thing they invited us to you tell them. Or I _promise_ you, that gut-wrenching regret you felt when you found out you had lost Steve? I promise you that this will be ten times worse. It will be worse because you had a second chance to tell them and you wasted it.”

James drops his head against the back of the couch, groaning loudly. “I can’t think about this now. Can we talk about your love life instead?”

Natasha makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat. “Fine, but if you tell _anyone_ what I’m about to tell you, I’m going to cut off your balls, fry them up and feed them to you.”

“Yes, Tasha.” James smiles. It was annoying to have all his intimate feelings out there and talked about, but he can’t help but feel grateful to have someone who cared about him enough to push him and talk with him about the things he never would bring up himself. He was uncomfortable having to face the depth of his feelings but he also felt cared for. And that felt good.

“I slept with Clint Barton.” Scratch that, sharing was overrated. 

“What the hell, Tasha!”

“Oh, shut up, we were in Budapest…”

* * *

“Are you excited to see Harley again?” Tony asked Peter as they finished peeling the potatoes. Tonight, they were having their usual family dinner with James, but this time he was also bringing Natasha and Harley for a Stark-Rogers-Romanov get together. Natasha had decided that she did want Harley to try public school after all—but there was a trial basis and if it turned out to be too risky or not a good fit she would pull Harley out immediately.

Since there was going to be more people and they didn’t know what Natasha or Harley liked to eat, Tony and Sarah were cooking more food than usual. Of course, with Mother Sarah at the helm that meant they went overboard. Tony had enlisted Peter and Steve to help, but by the time they were done there was going to be mashed potatoes and gravy, a vegetable medley, rice, a roasted chicken, ham, fresh-baked bread and two types of pie, blueberry and apple cinnamon. It was a lot of work but least the house smelled delicious.

Raising a finger to his lips, Tony motioned Peter closer silently and they dipped their fingers into the pie filling while Sarah’s back was turned. Sucking the jam off their fingers, they grinned at each other in sticky enjoyment, Peter trying to stifle his giggles.

Turning around and seeing them, Sarah whacked at them with a stirring spoon, but the two siblings just leapt out of the way and laughed harder. Exasperated, Sarah shooed all the boys upstairs to get cleaned up while she made the final touches on the pies herself.

Pulling Steve into the shower with him, Tony laughingly stole kisses while they fumbled with their clothes. Steve deepened the kiss immediately, sweeping his tongue into Tony’s mouth and seeking the remaining hints of sweet tartness. Darting away from Steve’s questing hands, Tony walked back into the shower and turned the water on, beckoning Steve with one hand. Joining him, Steve ran his hands over the slick skin while he stole more kisses, the water from the spray flowing from one to the other in all the places they connected.

“We don’t have much time,” Steve murmured.

Tony smiled up at him, smoothing his hands over broad shoulders. “It’s a good thing I prefer quality over quantity then, isn’t it?”

Not needing to speak, the two of them took turns washing each other’s bodies. They tried to be quick but they couldn’t help a few lingering touches, kisses pressed to chests or backs or the curve of Tony’s hip.

Tony finished getting ready before Steve so he left him while he checked on Peter. He was also ready so they made their way downstairs, detouring to answer the door when the heard the doorbell ring out.

“Welcome!” Peter called out to the three figures on the other side of the door. While he high-fived Harley, Tony returned Natasha’s hug, James’ eyes meeting his own over her shoulder. Ignoring the way that his heart skipped, Tony said something witty to Natasha, causing her to laugh even as she reached out to pinch his side in vengeance. Thankfully, Sarah showed up before things became awkward and Tony had to face the dilemma of whether to greet James with his normal hug or not. He hadn’t felt this unsure of his place in a while. 

“You must be Natasha,” Sarah said fondly, pulling the other woman into a hug. “I’ve heard so much about you, I’ve been looking forward to meeting with you for so long.”

“You have?” Natasha asked bewildered. She didn’t have much interaction with respectable, motherly women anymore so she was shocked at the warm welcome.

“Yes, of course. I always hear about the woman who’s responsible for restraining the amount of trouble my boys get into that they don’t think I’m aware of.” She huffed. “As if I’d believe they weren’t just as responsible for some of the destruction I hear about.”

“Did you hear about the goose incident?” Natasha probed enticingly.

“I have not, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.” Linking her arm with Natasha’s, Sarah pulled her towards the front room behind the two boys who were already ahead, their heads bent together and whispers being traded back and forth.

“Tony.”

Knowing he couldn’t ignore him any longer, Tony faced James with nerves buzzing like angry hornets. He looked attractive in his evening wear as he always did, the loose way he wore his jacket adding a careless air to his handsomeness. Tony had skipped training for a few days to avoid him, unable to face him while his head still spun with the knowledge that James was still deeply in love with Steve and that nothing had changed over the past year.

Though it had only been a week, Tony was surprised at how good it felt to see James, reluctantly recognizing that he had missed the other man. He had told Steve that they were taking a break while James handled some business with some of his contacts, not wanting to explain that he didn’t know _how_ to face James when his honesty had brought up more questions than it answered. If Tony was honest with himself, he felt betrayed and hurt by James’ words, the fact that he had hidden his feelings so well making Tony question everything.

“How’s your wound?” Tony asked, eyes on James' shoulder as if he could see through the cloth.

“It’s doing well. I had a surprisingly capable royal tend to me.” James replied gently, a cautious smile twisting his mouth. His eyes scanned over Tony’s face intently, searching and hopefully and Tony couldn’t resist a small smile of his own. Though he was upset, he didn’t want to be. He wanted to be okay with James again, to have them exchanging sarcastic barbs and teasing words and not having this tension between them.

“You’re very lucky to be in such good hands.”

“I was, but I said something that frightened the fair princess. It made her run away from me.”

Tony folded his arms across his chest. “Maybe you should watch your words then.”

“I usually excel at that,” James stepped forward slowly. “But this princess, you see, she’s different from anyone I’ve met. She charmed the truth out of me, even when I didn’t mean to ever share it.”

“You make her sound magical,” Tony said, trying to inject some levity in his tone but it fell flat. He felt unsteady, trying not to hope he was hearing what he thought he was hearing in James words.

“She is. She’s special and dear, always willing to put me in my place but more of a friend than I could have hoped to have. Can she forgive me for the hurt that I’ve dealt her?”

A cold wave washed through Tony. A _friend_. Tony had hoped that this back and forth that had been born between them, the way that there was an underlying heat to their interactions since that first kiss, the way that James shared pieces of his past and his heart with Tony meant that maybe, he had feelings for him too, not just Steve. But he was wrong, there was nothing there, it was all some grand illusion that he had built up in his head. A friend and nothing more, that’s what he was to James. Steve was the one who owned James heart and he needed to remember that. Feeling like an idiot, he took his broken hopes and pushed them down, putting himself in his place just as James said he excelled at.

“If you are true friends, she will forgive you,” he managed, his tone worlds lighter than he felt.

James took in Tony’s words and beamed in relief. “I’ll prove my friendship to her, don’t you worry.”

Nodding, Tony turned away before James could guess at the emotions he was hiding. “Let’s go join the others.”

Steve had joined the women in the front room and once they had all gathered, the moved to the dinner table together. Sarah and Natasha were getting on like a house on fire and thankfully took up most of the conversation with interjections from the men here and there. So far Tony though the dinner was going well, mostly due to the fact that Sarah couldn’t seem to get over the fact that she was going to have two young boys in her care again.

“Looking at them, it almost feels like I’ve gone back in time. But seeing how well-behaved you two are reassures me that you won’t be as much trouble as those two hooligans.” Sarah jerked her thumb to indicate James and Steve in emphasis.

“What was James like as a boy?” Natasha asked. “I’ve only known Grown Up James so I’m curious.”

“I was a perfect darling, wasn’t I, Aunt?” James broke in before Sarah could answer. Natasha snickered at the innocent way he blinked his eyes at them, as if he had never heard the word Trouble.

“I may not know the who story, but I’m not dumb James,” Natasha said, piling more greens on her plate. “You were probably just as much of a hassle as you are now. _I’m_ simply counting my blessings that that part of you hasn’t rubbed off on Harley.”

“That’s okay, ma,” Harley reassured her, “there’s still time for that.”

“Harley!” Natasha’s head whipped around to stare at her son.

Grinning in approval, James reached over to rumple the boy’s head. “At least someone is on my side.”

“To answer your question, Natasha,” Sarah stated, “these two haven’t changed much since they were boys. They were always getting into fights. I would get called in to the principal’s office so much that I became friendly with the faculty. What had been ‘Nice to see you’ became ‘Again? Don’t they ever get tired?’ But nope, not my boys, they wanted to take on all the injustice in the world.”

James nodded at her words. “Yep, Steve never met a bully he didn’t think looked better with a black eye.”

“Really?” Tony turned to Steve, brow raised.

“Now hold on a minute,” Steve interjected. “You were involved in all those fights too, jerk.”

“That’s because I constantly had to save your scrawny punk ass from getting beat!”

“James! Language!” Sarah scolded, indicating Peter and Harley with a pointed look.

James winced. “Sorry, Aunt. But I still stand by my point that it was all Steve’s fault.”

Steve shrugged, unrepentant. “You know what, fine. They all deserved what they got. I would fight them again.”

“Yea, Stevie, we know,” James scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Nothing like skinny, asthmatic Steve Rogers with a trash can lid to make bullies everywhere regret their life choices.”

Everyone laughed at that, but even as he made the motions, Tony felt hollow on the inside. The conversation had served as a much-needed reminder of the depth and longevity of Steve and James’ friendship. They’ve been a part of each other’s lives for decades, a length that made Steve and Tony’s relationship seem minuscule in comparison. That hadn’t been a problem before, when James was also just his friend and he was able to press him as a valuable resource on stories from Steve’s past, but things were different now that James was a potential rival. How could he compete with all that they had built over the years?

“Tell us more about their adventures together,” Tony invited Sarah, twisting the knife in deeper. He kept his eyes focused on the plate in front of him as he spoke, not wanting anyone to notice that he wasn’t as blithely curious as his tone suggested. When the stories came, he nodded and smiled in all the right places, but his mind was elsewhere, wondering what was the best thing to do. Is this the point to quietly step out, let both the men he loved be happy with each other?

_Both the men he loved?_

He froze when he caught onto his own thoughts, trying to figure when—how—why his feelings for James had turned into outright _love_.

When the dinner ended, Tony made a run for it, gathering up the dishes with a grin plastered on his face and taking them into the kitchen before anyone could protest. Holding onto the sink, he concentrated on deep breaths, knowing that working himself up over being blindsided by his own feelings and potentially losing Steve or James would just send him headfirst into a panic attack and he didn’t have the willpower to recover from that gracefully right now.

A hand grabbed him by the elbow and reacting on the instincts that had been drummed into him these last few months, he grabbed for whatever was in reach and aimed it at his attacker. Moving with the shift of his body, his attacker backed off immediately, and they stood there frozen in a dramatic tableau where Tony was holding a fork threateningly at James’ throat.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tony burst out incredulously.

“I could ask you the same thing,” James returned, pushing away the utensil from it was pressing into his skin. “What was that back there?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Tony faked incomprehension determinably. “I thought the whole dinner went splendidly.”

“Don’t bullshit with me, Tony,” James warned, eyes flashing in anger. “I thought we were okay and here you are steering the conversation back to me and Steve even when it hurts you to hear it and think about the time where you weren’t in our life. Do you think I’m dumb? What were you trying to do?”

The way they faced off against each other, Tony was reminded of the first few interactions alone and the ways things had reversed since then. The last time they were in this kitchen together, James had been seeking escape from Steve and the confusing, painful feelings his company inspired. The same thing Tony was now seeking escape from James. So much and so little had changed since that time, but Tony was tired of staying in this same cycle. They needed to end this limbo one way or another because the secrets and back and forth of emotion was too much. It shouldn’t be this difficult to have love in his life. It shouldn’t be this painful for any of them. They had all gone through enough.

“I think you should tell Steve how you feel,” Tony said, meeting James’ eyes squarely in the way he had grown accustomed to doing.

“Absolutely not.” James slammed out, slashing his hand in a cutting motion. “That didn’t go well the first time and nothing has changed since then. You’re blind if you think that that man has stopped loving you.”

Tony’s heart clenched at the certainty in James' voice, but the part of him that had begun to worry with the doubts was not so easily reassured.

“I know he hasn’t stopped loving me.” Maybe if he said it, if he could convince James of it, he’d convince himself too. “And I love him too much to be selfless enough to just give him up unless he tells me to.”

No, Tony didn’t want to give up Steve, they fought too hard to be able to survive and be together. But if Steve told him that he wanted to separate so he could be with James, or indicated it in any way, Tony would do it. He would be broken-hearted by that truth, but he refused to break his own heart and Steve’s over the possibility that they’re suffering would lead to a better happy ending. Tony knew what it was like to be robbed of choice, he wasn’t going to rob Steve’s of his.

“Then?”

“I believe you two are meant to be together,” Tony breathed out, the words grating painfully in his throat. “And I love Steve to share him if that’s what he wants too. He shouldn’t have to choose, not when it’s clear that you’re just as much a part of his heart as I am.”

James stepped back at Tony’s words, brow furrowed and disbelief painted plainly over his face.

“You can’t be serious about this. You can’t really be saying that you want to _share_ Steve with me.”

“If that’s what Steve wants,” Tony returned, more determined than he truly felt. He didn’t know if this was the right answer, no one he’d known had ever done this.

“But what about what you want?”

_I don’t know what I want! Can’t you see that I’m just trying to make the best of an impossible situation?_ But Tony didn’t say any of that, shoving his doubts and his fears down stubbornly. He was flying by the seat of his pants here, but somehow, someway, hopefully, they could make things work.

“I want to keep the man that I love and I want to give him everything that will make him happy.” _And this way, I get to keep you too, even if that’s just as a friend_. “But you need to explain yourself if you want him to truly give you a chance. You really hurt him when you broke his heart and I think he’s cautious about letting you in again in fear that the moment he does, you’ll walk away.”

Leading the way to the study where Steve was waiting, Tony paused right outside the door, standing to the side so that James could go in without Steve seeing Tony with him.

“Ready?” Tony whispered.

“No.” Tony had never seen James this uncertain about anything. Usually, he could command a room with ease, be the calm eye in the centre of a circling hurricane.

Pushing aside the fond smile that wanted to worm up at the sight of James’ vulnerability, he folded his arms and stepped in front of James, glaring fiercely. “Stop being a big baby, he’s your best friend. That’s not going to change no matter what he decides.” He knew that James would not take the soft-touch well right now, so he hammered in the tough love.

James groaned, scrubbing his hands down his face, but he nodded. “Are you coming with me?"

“No, if I’m there Steve will focus on me and make the decision he thinks would be best for me than the decision that’s most honest. I’ll wait out here and when it’s time I’ll come in and let him know I’m okay with it, but you need to apologize first if you want him to give this a fair shot.”

James dropped his hands to stare at Tony curiously. “Did you also learn all this wisdom from me and Steve?”

“Oh, definitely not,” Tony snorted. “I learned all this from Peter and Harley. They are wise beyond their years.”

“From the mouths of babes, yea?” They smiled at each other at the thought of the two young friends, happy at the way that their families were coming together successfully.

“Yea. Fair warning though, Sarah is completely wrong. Give it a few years and they will be just as much of a pain in the ass as you two are.”

“You mean were,” James corrected.

“No, I don’t.” Tony pushed James forward hard, ducking out of sight the moment the door opened. With one last glance to him, James walked into the room.

The minute the door closed behind him with unswerving finality, Tony felt his lungs seize. Needing air, he stumbled down the hall and towards the front of the house, hoping once he reached outside, the feeling of being unable to breathe would subside.

So focused on keeping one foot ahead of the other, he didn’t notice Natasha walking to him until he ran straight into her.

“Tony?” She steadied him with hands on his shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Yea, fine, just peachy. I j-just need some air, that’s all.” He bit his lip to stop the trembling that had made its way through his bones with disturbing swiftness. Tamping down the panic that swirled in his core, he concentrated on taking deep breaths in and out. Two panic attacks in one day, he hadn’t felt this out of control in a long time. Ignoring his words, Natasha raised his face so she could meet his eyes, scrutinizing him for long seconds.

“Come with me.” Pulling him in the direction of the living room, she pushed him to sit on the couch and grabbed a blanket to drape around his shoulders. Sitting next to him, she reached out and grabbed his clammy hands, trying to rub the warmth back into them.

“Better?”

“A little, thanks.”

“Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

“Not really, but I have a feeling you won’t let it go until I do.”

“You’re right, I am worried and I think you should talk about it,” she acknowledged. “But I’m not going to push. I just want you to know that you can talk if you want to and I’ll be here to listen.”

Tony stayed quiet for a long while, no able to articulate everything that he was feeling. It was weighing on him the fact that he had basically pushed James to confess his feelings again and shift his entire relationship with Steve and Tony’s entire relationship with Steve—all without actually telling Steve. And even though Tony had said that he would wait outside and then they’d be able to talk about it altogether, he was terrified of entering that room, so much so that the only thing he wanted to do was run as far away as he could so he could prepare himself. Because what if they were wrong? What if Steve decided since he could trust James fully with his heart, he didn’t need or want Tony anymore? Tony knew he was no prize, even his own father, his parent who was supposed to love and protect him, had tried to kill him.

“James is in the room with Steve right now.” He finally choked out. “Alone.”

Natasha nodded, still holding his hand in hers. “I see. Is them being alone difficult for you?”

Tony shook his head jerkily, agitated by everything flowing in his mind. “No, I told James that he should tell the truth about his feelings to Steve and basically pushed him in the room to come clean.”

“You want them to be together?”

“I mean I thought I did, I thought I was prepared to share Steve and be okay with it. That’s what I told James before he went into the room.”

“But?”

“But…it’s not as easy as I thought. I thought as long as I made the decision I would be okay with it but all I feel is terrified. I’m so scared that now that they have a chance to be together, Steve will realize that he doesn’t need me anymore, that I’m too much trouble to deal with. That they will find happiness in each other and I would just become…obsolete.”

“Hmm, that does seem like a lot to handle.” Natasha rested her chin on her palm, taking in his words and deliberating something in her head for long moments.

“Tony, I’m going to ask you something and I want you to be honest with me, okay?”

Tony nodded hesitantly, not sure if he could promise full honesty right now. Everything was just too confusing and moving too fast and he had the horrible fear that he might have made the biggest mistake of his life.

“Do you feel comfortable here right now?”

Tony’s breath caught at the question, his mind stalling. He wanted to be dismissive and say yes, he was fine, this was nothing compared to the other things he’d lived through, he was _fine_. But the words caught in his throat, choking him as his eyes filled with tears that he tried to blink away before they had the chance to fall.

Under Natasha’s gentle gaze, he ultimately got out a quiet but blessedly honest, “No.”

Nodding understandably, not even question for a moment why he would feel unsafe in his own space, Natasha rose from the couch and extended a hand to pull Tony up with her. “Then I think you should come stay with me a few days,” she pronounced.

“What?” Tony blinked, uncomprehendingly. He had thought Natasha was going to give him some wisdom on ‘facing his problems head-on’ or something to that effect. Not an offer to run away like he so desperately wanted to.

Natasha shrugged. “The gala is soon, right? I was going to invite you anyway to get ready, and this way we’ll have plenty of time to get you all dolled up the way that I was hoping we could.” She squeezed his hand lightly where it was still grasped in hers. “Distance can be clarifying; this will help you figure out how you feel about Steve and James getting together and what role you want to take in that.”

“But—it’s Monday.”

“And?”

“The gala is Saturday.” His brow screwed up in confusion. “Why would I need that much time to get ready?”

“Oh, Tony, darling,” Natasha chuckled delightedly. “This is going to be fun.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ..........I have really no excuse. But I do hope all of you are well. Let me know what you think of this bit.

James entered the gala hall, eyes immediately seeking a familiar curly head in the crowd of well-dressed people. Barton had come through and they had received their invitations the night before, welcoming them to the “most exclusive social event” of the season.

James scoffed. Rich folks like this never failed to be convinced of their self-importance, but this time James could see why they were cautious about the invites.

Striding around the room was the entertainment of the evening, human beings that would cause public outcry with the scandalous eroticism of the way they were dressed. They drew eyes from all around the room, clad in extravagant, diaphanous material that hid very little. Meanwhile, the skin that was on display was painted to depict various themes, ranging from nature motifs to fantastical creatures.

A woman passed them in a shimmery silver dress that had a cut that dipped down towards her navel, her dark skin decorated in the swirling colours of the universe. Stars crested over the curves of her shoulders to trace their way along her arms, echoing the constellations that tiptoed down her ribs in playful swoops. Her hair fell down her back in long, heavy braids, the strands intertwined with jewels like blue giants dancing with dark matter.

James watched her, the way she and the others floated through the crowd as if bobbing to their own current, eyes dreamy and serene in a way that spoke of drugs. Touching her lightly on her shoulder to get her attention, he directed her towards the food table with a gentle smile. He doubted the food would flush out whatever was in her system any sooner, but at least when she woke up again she wouldn’t feel burned out at all ends.

Her answering smile was open and inviting, the innocence in it reminding him of Tony.

Tony had left the house nearly a week ago with Natasha and there’d been no contact from him since, a fact that had James’ back up. He had been under the impression that Tony was all for him telling the Steve the truth, that he would be there to help ease the tension that came with James exposing his feelings _yet again_ for a man who had already rejected him once.

Instead, Tony had bailed the moment the door was closed and James didn’t get it. If the idiotic man had spent the last 5 days convincing himself that neither Steve nor James had any sort of feelings for him and getting ready to back away out of some misguided attempt to make them happy—oh, they would be having words. Very strong words. 

“If you glare at the room like that, you’ll scare everyone away from telling us any real information,” Steve told him.

“Oh, eat shit,” James replied scathingly. “You’re just as mad as I am that Tony’s been nowhere to be found.”

“True, but then I think about wringing Natasha’s neck for taking him from the house and leaving only that stupid note that told us ‘not to worry, I have it handled’ and I feel better.”

The brothel was the first place they had checked, as Natasha knew they would. They had arrived to find a second note, like a goddamn scavenger hunt that led to a park and then a warehouse and then a dead end. They had only stopped there because the last note was from Tony, saying “I’m safe, don’t search for me please.” It was the _please_ that did it, and even with their instincts demanding that they go out and search for the man they knew was hurting from loving them, that was doubting his value to them, they could never say no to one of Tony’s _please_.

He just didn’t understand. He had thought that he and Tony were in this _together._ In the early days when he couldn’t stand to be around Steve because it hurt too much, Tony had been there. Tony had been there every day when he came back from doing business in all the grisliest parts of the city, when he was forced to take action that stained his skin and further pushed him down the depths into the darkness. He was the balm to James’ soul that he hadn’t thought he needed until he was deprived of it. Between Tony avoiding him the week before and then hiding out with Natasha god knows where, he hadn’t seen him in almost three weeks. This was the longest stretch of time that they’ve been separated in months and unexpectedly James felt each day stab at him like a burr in the seat of his pants. 

Feeling the tension in his jaw and forehead, James took a conscious breath and tried to paste a pleasant expression on his face. From Steve’s snort, he probably wasn’t doing a good job so he settled for something that at least wasn’t a scowl.

“How was Peter last night?” James asked, grabbing a handful of hors d’oeuvres and putting it on one of the tiny plates provided. For the amount of money that must have been spent on this party, they sure were selfish with their food.

“He went to sleep crying again.”

“Even when you tell him Tony is safe?”

“Yea, he’s fine during the day when he has Harley giving him letters from Tony, but he misses him at night when Tony usually reads him a story.”

Steve reached out to pluck a glass of champagne off a server’s tray, taking a deep swallow and despite his bad mood, James couldn’t resist the urge to admire him.

The deep midnight blue of his formal jacket lay beautifully against his fair skin, the black silk of his lapel having a wide cut to that exposed his crisp white shirt and complemented his black pants. He was cleanly shaven, but had foregone the bowtie, somehow managing to still look both dashing and respectable. James was heavily tempted to muss him up, run his hands through blond strands and ruck up his white shirt. Dirty and stain him and reveal the real Steve Rogers hidden under this polished façade, a man with blood on his hands and death on his conscience and every bit the equal to James’ own depravity.

A thrill went through him when he remembered that he did have the right to touch Steve as he pleased, to bite and mark and claim him so that everyone would know that he was taken by someone who would shed blood to keep him. Clenching his hands to distract him from the urge, he forced himself to concentrate on their conversation instead of the interest that was making itself known in his pants.

“Do you get letters from Tony?” James has assumed not because he hadn’t heard anything, but Steve was always closer to Tony than he had been. All they had were heated moments where James had been tempted to push forward into what was forbidden territory. Steve knew all the little parts of Tony that James had never been able to see, the domestic sides that were never available to him. What Tony was like living in the Rogers house, the books he kept on his nightstand, or what he was like when he woke up in the morning, all soft and sleep warm. James knew that Steve meant more to Tony, maybe that meant he had insider information that he hadn’t gotten around to sharing.

“No,” Steve sighed, unknowingly dashing James’ hopes. “There’s been no word from him since he left and Peter won’t let me see the notes Tony sends to him. He only let me know that Tony sounds fine…that he’s having fun.”

James could hear the clear doubt in Steve’s voice, the clearest indication of how deeply Tony had embedded himself in Steve and how hurt he was at his disappearance. “Just because he’s in a new setting and having fun doesn’t mean he won’t come back,” he reassured. “Until he does, we have work to do. Gibbons should be here somewhere, making bad jokes and insulting small talk.”

Nathaniel Gibbons was the one that Clint had found to be the most likely weak link in the group that headed the illegal fight clubs. He was relatively new money, his family’s wealth made with the war business and passed on to him, though he had never been intended to be the heir. There were rumours around his older brother’s untimely death, but they had never been proved and with the amount of money, he controlled people were easy to convince to look the other way. Publicly at least. Pub talk tore him to shreds, haranguing his cocaine habits and darker tastes when it came to sex.

James had had to bar him from the brothel after reports that he was hurting the girls, something Gibbons hadn’t taken nicely, but James wasn’t about to stand around and let the tosser hurt the ones under his protection. But that meant that he would be the last person Gibbons would be willing to talk to, so for today’s part of the mission, he was playing backup. Steve would take point, cornering Gibbons and try to convince him to let Steve join their little secret society.

And if charm didn’t work, they would resort to more messy persuasion tactics.

They walked around the room, exchanging pleasantries and making small talk as they surveyed the various guests in search of Gibbon’s auburn head. James knew most of these people, and the ones he didn’t know by name he knew by reputation. They were the wealthy elite, the ones that held political and economic power in the city that he had only started collecting in the last decade. They were still embedded into the fabric of New York and with the growth of his own influence, they’ve manoeuvred around each other at many points over the last few years.

Shaking hands with the mayor and exchanging flirtatious words with his wife, James glanced at Steve who was speaking to a group near him. Even as his body looked at ease and he oozed charm, James saw the way that Steve’s eyes discretely scanned the room again and again, though the odds of whether he was looking for Tony or Gibbons were a guess. Catching a glimpse of orange-red over his shoulder, James tilted his body as he subtly searched the crowd on the far side of the room. Gibbons walked through one of the doors from the hall on the side of another man, the two of them still in discussion.

About to make his excuses, he was distracted by the Mayor’s wife soft exclamation.

“Amazing,” she gasped and James turned to see his cousin at the top of the stairs that led down to the gala. James idly noticed she did look dangerously beautiful in her dark bloodred dress, but his eyes were firmly fastened on the figure next to her.

“ _Tony._ ”

While Natasha was dark, Tony was bright. Every inch of his exposed skin—and there was a _lot_ —glowed, his face, arms and torso gilded in shimmering golden dust that highlighted every curve and muscle with loving attention. Parts of his chest peeked out from daring red ropes that twined over his chest in knots, doubling as a belt that braced the flowing red skirt that parted in the middle to display harem pants that hinted at the skin underneath, seeming equal as gold-touched. Adorned in the brilliant red and gold, he looked like some kind of royal fae that had wandered into human lands, tempted by the quick-burning fire of mortal life and James’ hands itched at the desire to trap him before he disappeared into mist.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Steve step up to his side, practically vibrating with the need to bound up the stairs and wrap their lover in his hands. To make sure he was safe, whole, and would never leave their side again.

Discretely, James slipped his hand into Steve’s, squeezing it and lending his strength and understanding even as he cautioned patience. They couldn’t make a scene, for Tony to gather the information they would need he had to be perceived as completely unconnected to them. Steve rushing up and wrapping him up in his arms like he wished to would tip off everyone about just how _close_ they were.

Still, it didn’t make it easy, James physically ached at being so close to Tony and yet being unable to touch, he could only imagine how much worse it must be for Steve who was used to seeing Tony every day for the last year.

James watched as Tony descended the staircase, arm tucked in Natasha and utterly unfazed by the amount of attention that was on him. He took it in as if it was his due and when the crowd converged on him when he touched ground, James could just make out the sounds of his voice making some outrageous quip that had the guests both scandalized and amused.

Unable to tear his eyes away, James felt a hot flash of indignation and bitter envy as Tony was led farther into the room on the arm of some man that he didn’t recognize, slim and handsome with inky black hair that fell to his shoulders. Trying to stifle it down, he gave up when he saw the man’s hand drop familiarly to Tony’s side, fingers becoming tinged with dust as they ignored propriety to go above Tony’s covered hip and latch onto golden skin.

James plotted this unknown man’s murder quickly. It wouldn’t take much, one of those side rooms would be more than enough privacy and James bet he could do it all without getting a single drop of blood on his white jacket.

Before he knew it, he was across the room and striding to intercept the threesome as they made their way through the crowd, though he had enough sense to make it seem like he was just heading for the server near them rather than arrowed in on Tony. Tony’s eyes widened when they caught sight of him coming towards them, and James caught the tension that was on the corner of Natasha’s smile but he didn’t care. Even if he couldn’t say all the things he wanted to say, ask the questions that weighed heavy on his tongue, he needed to be near him.

He looked even more beautiful up close, the details that James couldn’t catch from farther away adding additional intricacy to his costume. There were pieces of gold foil at his temples, like leaves that wound their way into his hair and connected to marks of darker gold that arching over his cheekbones and slid down the side of his neck. More marks of dark gold were visible here and there, like the characters in a secret language that James just wanted to trace his hands and tongue along the path of.

Honeyed eyes locked with his and he knew he made a huge mistake because now all he could think about was abandoning this whole mission in order to wrap his arms around Tony and do everything he could to wipe away the sadness that brimmed there.

“Mr Barnes.”

James glanced at the man at Tony’s side, a charming smile on his face and voice pleasant enough if it wasn’t for the fact that his fingers were _still_ stroking Tony’s side.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mr…?”

“Loki Laufeyson.” He let go of Tony and extended his hand out for a shake, laughing and pulling back when he saw that his entire hand was dusted in gold.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr Laufeyson. And who are your beautiful companions?”

“Ah, this is Lady Aline Kosov,” he gestured to Natasha, “and this is Yash.” He dropped his hand on Tony’s hip, but before he could pull him close again, James reached out to grasp Tony’s hand and tug him forward. Bending in a bow, he lifted Tony’s shimmering hand to his lips, brushing a kiss to the vulnerable skin of his wrist and enjoying the sound of Tony’s soft choked breath. 

Looking up but not letting go, James rose a teasing brow that only Tony could see, his body blocking them from the crowd. “ _Yash_ , what an interesting name.”

Tony’s eyelashes fluttered, the slightest hint of red visible through the paint on his skin. “It’s Indian, from my great-grandfather. It means fame.”

“That must be the explanation of why you’ve captured the attention of the entire room tonight,” James flirted, delighted by the fact that as his alias, Tony chose something close to his own nickname.

“Maybe,” Tony acknowledged, pulling his hand away. “Or maybe they’re just intrigued by what they don’t understand, by whatever is the most exotic and exciting at the moment.”

“I find it hard to believe that you’re the type of person to only be interesting in the moment, Yash.”

“Unfortunately, that’s for my patron to find out, not you.” Tony stepped back next to his companion, and nodding their goodbyes, they continued on.

* * *

“That was stupid,” Natasha said, cornering Steve and James on the side of the room where they had been talking. She was dressed extravagantly, embodying some kind of nature queen with a woven crown on her head made from sharp branches. Her dress was a dark red, shot through with gold and green thread that wove through the fabric like twining vines with a low cut that drew attention to her winged collarbones. They had also been painted with the same vines and interspersed with blossoming flowers, extending until they wound their way down her bare arms.

“You look lovely,” Steve complimented. Natasha usually looked well put together as the proprietress of a brothel, but she was looking exceptionally alluring tonight and there were many admiring eyes, both men and women, on her.

“T—”

“Oh, you didn’t let me finish. You look lovely, for a backstabbing _shrew_ of a friend.”

Natasha rolled her eyes hard enough James wondered if she saw the back of her head. “Now, Steve I hardly think we have to descend to the name-calling. What’s next, you’re going to pull on my pigtails?”

Steve scowled at her. “You _kidnapped_ my lover. The man who has basically been living as my spouse for the better part of a year.”

“Spouse? And you didn’t invite me to the wedding?” Natasha gasped, mockingly. “No wonder I had to have my revenge. I suppose this is what that green witch in the sleeping girl story felt like. It’s heartbreaking really, not being able to trust the ones you love.”

“I’m being serious here, Natasha.”

“So am I.” She stepped up, going toe to toe with Steve and somehow managing to stare him down from her lower height, green eyes sparking with anger. “Both of you claim to love that boy above anything else and yet neither of you paid enough attention to see that he was hurting even as he sprouted words of his own undying love. At least I gave him a safe space to find some peace from his own overactive thoughts. Where were you when he couldn’t even catch breath, when he thought he would lose the only source of stability he had to another man that he didn’t even know that it was okay to love? _Where were you?_ ”

Steve and James both gaped at Natasha, dumbstruck by the force of her anger, her scathing words no less powerful for the fact that they were quiet. She was usually so level-headed, the things that made her lose her cool strictly regulated to Harley, and more recently Pepper but not even James got to her the way that Tony apparently did.

“You can criticise me for the way I went about it, not bothering to give you a proper warning. I know that must have been driving you mad having him suddenly disappear and I _am_ sorry for that. But I am not sorry for protecting that boy for your ineptness, and you can go suck on an egg if you want me to apologise.”

Steve coughed, scratching at his ear and feeling every bit as ashamed as he did when he was eight and was caught by his mother stealing flowers and candy for a girl he had a crush on. She had dragged him straight back to the Harry Keith’s store and pushed his head down to make his apologies on the spot. And then he spent the next two summers working at the Keith’s store to make up the difference and because his mother had a thing about him fully learning his lesson. She was right, he had never stolen from a small business again.

“Furthermore,” Natasha lectured, hands planted on her hips and embodying every inch the annoyed maternal figure that couldn’t believe her offspring was capable of such stupidity. “I took great care in preparing Tony and me for this party. I even managed to get the perfect companion for him that was handsome enough to warn people off from drugging him like they have the others but was unknown enough that those with power are tempted to bypass him and steal Tony away. Lots of preparation that this buffoon almost washed away with his dumbstruck approach.”

“Yea, I know, I get that I messed up,” James grated out. Steve had already told him the same thing when he saw that James had approached Tony. He had held back because one of them bringing attention to Tony and Natasha were bad enough, too many people would gossip if they saw both of them showing interest in the brunette, no matter how gorgeous Tony looked.

He was jealous that James had been able to interact with Tony and annoyed that James had gone before he had a chance to—a fact that he made that clear to him by yanking James into a secluded room and berating him the moment Tony had walked away and the eyes of the room had followed him. James knew how important Tony was to him and how difficult the last week had been, not having Tony in the house or the office or any of the places that Steve had gotten used to him being.

In apology for his selfishness and rashness in putting their task and Tony in danger, James had pressed up against Steve willingly, offering his mouth in a way that Steve didn’t resist. They spent long minutes locked with each other, Steve sweeping into James’ mouth with his tongue, tangling with his in a dirty, messy way that was washed with anger and frustration and longing for someone they were both missing. Slamming him up against the wall, Steve had struggled with the desire to rip James’ elegant white jacket from his shoulders and unbutton and release him and make a mess out of both their formal wear. To return while marked up and smelling of sex and uncaring of the result.

Instead, they had pulled themselves together, straightened up their clothing and returned with no one the wiser of what they had been up to. 

The moment of passion had soothed Steve somewhat but he was still uneasy, still on edge at the fact that Tony was in the room and inaccessible to him, reminding him of the hell of the last week. Of waking up in the morning reaching out for Tony, only to encounter cold pillows and the reminder that he was alone. Or of him saying something to the couches in his office out of habit, a random question that he wanted Tony’s opinion on and ended up waiting for a response that never came.

It was so easy to forget that the quiet wasn’t Tony reading a book or occupied with his thoughts or his work, but that it was empty space. And he wasn’t the only one feeling it. His mother was quieter than usual around the house, not dancing in the kitchen the way that she got into the habit of doing with Tony. And Peter, well he was hit hardest of all. It was worse than James knew, but Steve didn’t want to tell him because he knew he would blame himself.

Peter wasn’t the happy kid that Steve had come to know over the past year, his light dimmed when he came home every day to see that Tony hadn’t returned yet. He wasn’t as talkative during supper and at night, even when he did sleep he would wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares. Peter would cry in his sleep for Tony, reliving the moments when Tony was beaten so badly that he had to be kept in the hospital for weeks on end, no one knowing if his mind would recover from the beatings even if his body did. Steve had taken to sleeping with the door to his room open so that he could hear when Peter woke up at night and tried to soothe him best he could.

But he couldn’t fight the fears that lived in Peter’s head, the ones they had forgotten about because they had all been fooled into believing that the little boy had adjusted to living with Howard gone. It looked like they all carried their demons.

Steve hoped that if they finished their job here tonight, Tony would finally come home. Reaching out to James, he slipped his hand in his. It was a risky move even with the motion hidden with the angle of their bodies, but he needed that small bit of comfort to get his head back in the game.

“Have you heard anything?” he asked Natasha. They had confirmed that Gibbons was here, but he was always around other people, making it difficult for Steve to approach him and bring up the subject of the fighting clubs subtly.

“No, nothing so far.” She narrowed her eyes at the loose circle of men across the room, one in which included Gibbons and where Tony and a few others were pulled into. “It looks like their trying to keep news of new business ventures under wraps, but that might change once they start drinking at dinner. You know what they say, alcohol loosens the tongue enough that it trips over the lies and straight into the truth.”

Steve scoffed. “You just made that up, didn’t you?”

She smiled winningly. “Yes, but didn’t I sound wise?”

“Anyway,” James interrupted, crossing his arms. “The best time to approach Gibbons would be after dinner then. Aren’t they doing that archaic separation of the sexes where the men go to gossip and the women go to do business?”

“Isn’t it the other way around?”

“You’ve known Natasha long enough to be smarter than that Stevie.”

Steve nodded. “Fair enough, we’ll do that approach then.”

Natasha laughed mockingly. “Sarah would be so proud that you’ve absorbed the fruits of our training so well because now it’s time to put those manners to good use. We’re going through.”

A manservant came through one of the doors to announce that dinner was ready, and everyone made their way into the main event of the evening. The seating was already predetermined so Steve made his way to where his place card was located, in between two that looked to be twins, a male and a female. They had dusky skin and dark curly hair that trailed down their backs, their outfits possessing an overabundance of blues.

“Good evening,” Steve greeted, taking his seat in between them and surveying the room from his seat. James and Tony were at the next table over, at opposite ends from each other. Steve could only see the back of James’ head but he had a perfect view of the men on either side of Tony who had turned away from their other companions to give him their full attention.

Luckily for them, they kept their attention bound to their admiring gazes rather than reaching out to touch the way that others had been tempted to.

Natasha and Tony’s companion had managed to be seated at the same table as Gibbons who was sharing some rousing story. Drink already in his hand, he didn’t notice the derisive looks the men around him aimed his way, blithely making a ruckus that Steve could just catch even where he was seated two tables away.

His tablemates introduced themselves. “I am River, and this is Ocean,” the female said, pressing a hand to her chest. The movement lead to a cascade of soft sound as the jewels of her costume tinkled against each other.

“I’m assuming those aren’t your real names,” Steve said, placing his napkin on his lap and taking a sip of his water.

Ocean smiled, shaking his head amiably. “No, but it makes a lot more sense than our real names when we look like the sky threw up on us.”

“So you didn’t pop out of the womb as water spirits?” Steve asked dryly. “And here I thought I found a reason to convert back to paganism.”

River stuck out her tongue playfully. “I’m oh so happy we could inspire a fossil like you to change his ways. Something tells me you don’t change your mind easily.”

Steve snorted. “If you’re going to insult me at least go for something more interesting than my age.”

Ocean snickered as River stared at Steve with eyes gone sly. “Don’t be fooled, pops. River hates to lose and now you’ve just challenged her. I hope you’re looking forward to having every aspect of your identity torn into.”

“Looking forward to it, maybe that will mean that I don’t die of boredom from one of these events. Some of these folks’ idea of conversation is better than morphine for knocking you out.”

River shrugged, shifting out of the way as the server came and placed the first course in from of them, a plate full of tiny hors d’oeuvres. “Some of them are interesting. I sat next to a guy in the last party that was as high as a kite. Kept talking about how cake fairies were dancing in the air, and they were angry that we were given tarts.”

“How did that lead to this?” Steve gestured to their intricate outfits.

River tugged at a tassel on her blue flapper-esque dress. “That’s a long story, are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Well, we have about six million courses for this meal so we might have time for it.” Steve shrugged. “Or we could make polite small talk on the state of the economy, your choice.”

“Right,” Ocean nodded. “So what happened was my sister has always dreamed about being captain of her own ship.”

And Steve spent the majority of the 12-course dinner listening to a story that had way too many clams and ukuleles and what seemed like very little actual sailing. But on the bright side, it was incredibly engaging and it was fascinating to watch the ways that the twins interacted, alternating the telling and picking up where the other left off as if they shared one brain. It made Steve spontaneously yearn for a sibling and yet made him grateful that he was an only child.

“I’m confused,” Steve declared once they finished.

“Yea, we are too,” River admitted. “But at least we ended up at this party together and you were able to meet people as interesting as us. You’re welcome for enriching your life.”

Steve snorted. “Cheeky.”

“You know you like us, Blonde and Broody,” Ocean teased. “Though from the way that your eyes have been locked on him all night, you like the golden one better.” Steve's eyes gravitated towards Tony at Ocean’s remark, trying not to dwell on the way that Tony lounged back in his seat, looking satisfied and amused as he tolerated the way the man on his left was drawing a light finger over the painted skin of his forearm.

“Are you going to buy him for the night?” River asked, taking a long swallow of her wine.

“Buy him?” Steve’s brows drew together.

“Didn’t you know? All the people in the costumes are on auction and the highest bid gets to have them for the night. Didn’t we explain that part?”

“No, I distinctly remember that there was no mention of auctions, though that should have taken precedence over the old lady and her clams.”

“That was a key part of the story,” River denied. “We couldn’t have left that out! But basically, artists were commissioned to meld humanity and other motifs to create unique pieces. Everyone you see in an extravagant costume is an ‘artwork’ or living works of art, and they are allowed to be bought for one night.”

“To do whatever the buyers want?”

“Well, the actual terms of the agreement are determined by what the artwork will accept,” Ocean elaborated. “But there are indeed bonuses for more intimate acts, so even if that wasn’t the artwork’s original plan, I guess they could be persuaded.”

“And when does the bidding happen?”

“At any point during the night. You just take a card,” Ocean reached over to the centre of the table and pulled a card from near the centrepiece, “write down the number that was on your invitation and the bid that you want to make and hand it to one of the servers. You direct them to which artwork you want to bid on and they approach them with the bid. Then the artwork chooses whether they want to accept or not and there you go.”

“It’s generally accepted that anything over $100,000 is expecting sex,” River winked.

Steve huffed. “That’s a lot of money for one night. Who’re the ones doing the collecting?”

“The Board. Essentially, the ones who are running the party. They’ve hired lawyers and security and whatever else they need to get the funds but we’re not involved in that. As long as we get our cut we’re happy.”

“How much is your cut? It’s your body that’s being sold right? Do you get the majority of the split?”

“No, we get 50% of what the bid is. The patrons _claim_ it’s because we get a free dinner and because we don’t pay for any of the jewels or materials on our body, but I think they just want a big slice of the profit.”

“Are you going to make a bid?” Ocean held out the card, heavy and cream coloured.

Steve took it, contemplating his options.

Saying his goodbyes as the dinner ended and the groups were separated, Steve headed towards the smoke room with the other men, eyes automatically scanning the crowd for Tony even as he searched for Gibbons. But even as he saw signs of Tony’s presence, gold marks here and there on the crowd, he couldn’t spot him. Or the redhead they were searching for.

“Steve, you ready?” James came up to him.

“No. Tony is missing and I think Gibbons bought him.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is going to be a little different than usual cause we have to go back to go forward, but whatever, I was curious about Tony's time in a brothel and knew you were too. Anyways, enjoy! and let me know what you think

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Tony asked hesitantly. “Maybe I’m overreacting. Shouldn’t I face them head-on?”

He was sitting tucked in an outrageously fluffy bed in one of Natasha’s lesser-known establishments. Apparently, she had them scattered all over the city—probably all over the world honestly—and it would take James and Steve much too long to search them all.

Tony had left home that evening, not even bothering to take a bag full of his possessions to help him tide over. No, instead he had walked out with nothing but the clothes on his back, a ten-dollar bill and the knife he kept in his pocket in case of emergency. Natasha had reassured him that she would provide everything he needed, but the level of quality that she was accustomed to was so much more…decadent than Tony was used to. The sleepshirt she had given him was soft and felt much too rich to be used for something as tame as sleeping, especially with the little ribbons located on the shoulders and the hems for decoration.

He had been worried that James and Steve would know where he was the moment he had left the house as if they had a tracker on him to trail his movements. All evening, when he was taking a bath and readying himself for bed, he was sure that they would burst in and confront him and take him back to the house to _talk_. He only stopped worrying about it when Natasha told him that they stopped looking after they had found his note, which he didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed about. Maybe both.

Far be it for his feelings to be more straightforward.

“Do you think you’re more ready now to be completely honest with them about your fears than you were this evening?” Natasha asked, plumping up his pillows and laying down next to him.

“No,” Tony admitted, sinking to lie down properly under the covers and fingering the threads of the sheets absentmindedly. “I still don’t fully know what to say. I know that I love them. Both of them.” He blushed as he spoke the words but he didn’t stumble over the confession as he thought he would. It was as if it came out easier now that he had recognized it, like it was bubbling around in his subconscious for months, waiting for him to realize it was there. “But knowing that I do and knowing what that _means_ for our future is two different things.”

“You don’t know what you want from them, yet,” Natasha confirmed.

Tony nodded. “Honestly, yea. Do you think being away will truly help me find out?”

Natasha leaned up to press a kiss to his forehead. “I think it certainly can’t hurt. Either way, it’s healthy to take time for yourself no matter how many people you love. Whether it’s one or seven, you must always remember who you are, even when it seems as if you and the other person are melding together, you need to remember to take the time and reflect on whether or not you’re truly happy as yourself.”

With that, she got up from the bed, stretching out her muscles and yawning. “The sun is going to rise in a couple of hours so take this time to rest. You’re living in a brothel now, darling, so your nights are going to start being very busy.”

“Goodnight, Natasha,” Tony wished her, knowing that even with the thoughts roiling around in his mind, it would take superhuman effort to ignore the sweet calls from this warm, fluffy cloud of a bed.

“Goodnight, Tony.”

* * *

“You look beautiful in red.” Tony turned around at the familiar voice, apologizing to the seamstress when she scolded him for interrupting her pinning process. There behind him, visible through the reflection of his viewing mirror was Pepper, standing proud and elegantly dressed, looking every inch the executive assistant to an influential proprietress.

“Pepper! What are you doing here?”

“Natasha told me you were here, so of course I had to come see you.” She held out a finger and he pressed his against hers, absorbing that tiny touch of comfort. “She told me you needed to get away from the craziness for a few days. Though,” she weighed her head from side to side, smiling ruefully, “what she truly said was that you needed to escape from such a penis heavy place.”

Tony choked, having trouble imagining Natasha uttering those words with her cultured voice as if she was talking about something mundane. “She thought the best place to go to escape all the testosterone would be a brothel house?”

Pepper smiled wickedly. “You wouldn’t believe how many females we have in his house Tony, and I’m not just talking about the prostitutes.”

“You mean—?” She nodded and in his mind Tony pictured crowds of respectable women sneaking through the side doors of the brothel, liaising with young men to pleasure them where their husbands couldn’t—or young women who knew the female body in all its intricacies. “Well, I guess you found the perfect place after all.”

She whacked him on the arm, somehow managing not to disturb the seamstress with her violence.

Tony stepped off the platform the moment he had the go-ahead, ignoring the slight prick of pins as he embraced his friend. “I missed you, you horrible tease. How have you been? What have you been up to? What’s Natasha like as a boss? Does she know about _that_ yet?” His brows danced meaningfully, thinking of the confession Pepper had shared during their picnic together. “Come on, I want to hear everything!”

“Slow down!” Pepper exclaimed, laughter in her voice as she embraced Tony just as enthusiastically. “Same old Tony, always going a mile a minute,” she shook her head. “To answer one of your questions,” she pulled out a locket from underneath her dress, a delicate thing with filigree on its outer edges and threaded on a long golden chain. Tony pulled it closer to his face to read the words engraved on the centre of its golden surface.

“ _Moya Spetsiya_?”

Pepper’s cheeks took on a neat red flush. “My spice. It’s for my name, but also my temper. She says that like a proper meal is never complete or delicious without the right spices, her life is bland and incomplete without me in it.”

“Oh my god,” Tony said awed, “Natasha is wooing you with cheesy lines. You got the _madam of a brothel_ to be horrifically romantic to you to the extent that she’s losing all of her smooth tricks.”

Pepper grinned, huge and delighted. “I know.”

“This must mean love,” Tony yelled, grabbing Pepper’s shoulders and shaking her in shared glee.

“I know!” Pepper echoed again, shaking his arms and laughing, both of them losing all composure in the dressing room as Tony stood swathed in yards of red and pins, celebrating the fact that love was in the air.

* * *

Tony had never given much thought to what the clientele of a brothel would be, assuming that they were all from the criminal world like James and Steve or the political world. But he was wrong, Natasha ran a well-organized machine that drew clients from all walks of life and celebrities from all over. Artists, bureaucrats, doctors, poets, musicians and actors, the brothel was full of interesting characters every night. They didn’t always come for sex, they came for the atmosphere, Natasha’s brothel working as the centrepoint from which industry giants met with aspiring talents at a level where they interacted informally, not bogged down with the need for social niceties or mixing words when it came to exchanging frank discussions. It was a hotbed of ingenuity, or connection, and pure unadulterated fun.

Tony took to making rounds to the various rooms, settling wherever he was drawn to and engaging with an entire swath of new characters he never thought he would ever meet in his life before. He met factory workers with missing fingers and gory stories of the conditions working with savage machinery with no regard for the delicate nature of human bodies, or women fighting for civil and labour rights now that so many of the men had died in the war and they were the ones dominating most of the jobs. These were the folks that struggled day by day to pay the bills, who lived in cramped tenements with at least three other families taking up the same space. They were the immigrants fresh off the boat and looking for new life and opportunity, seduced by tales of the golden roads of the United States of America.

They took Tony in stride, acting like the extended family he had never known. Maria and Howard had both been only children so their household had always been small, the nuclear existence of just the two parents, Tony and Peter. Now Tony had aunts and uncles, older gentlemen who smoked from cherrywood pipes and grandmothers who scolded him for not having enough to eat. It was like have 10 Sarah Rogers all at once, overwhelming and amazing in turns.

Then there were the sophisticates, the educated crowd who wanted to spend hours debating politics and philosophy, quoting great spokesmen and writers and engaging in intellectual conversation as if it was a war to be won. Debating like they were striking at the hearts of arguments with every word, decimating enemies and sharing their knowledge with the craftsmen and workers that lived the conditions they read about in books and newspapers.

The atmosphere was vibrant, academic, bubbling with creativity and discussion and scandal as the wine flowed and the prostitutes circled and found their clients for the night. Tony didn’t read a single book in the nights he spent there, suddenly having an army of tutors and mentors eager to teach and share and debate and argue, lived experience and academic treatises warring and melding as the nights wore on.

But it wasn’t just discussions that occurred. Business took places, backhanded dealings or new partnerships blossomed as inhibitions lowered and folks found others who couldn’t be more unlike them and yet, they were the exactly the ones they were looking for, with the appropriate knowledge or goods to trade. And then there were the ones just there to soak in the atmosphere, to drink and seduce and enjoy and pass the nights frivolously before they slept the day away.

Dressed in the light green silk robes Natasha had left out for him, Tony swirled around the rooms as he found his own entertainment for the evening. There was an itch under his skin tonight, two days since he had left home and now he was started to rethink his decision once again. It was a kind of restlessness, energy to expel that wouldn’t be satisfied with discussion, not tonight. He needed a challenge.

Stepping into the gambling rooms, he moved towards a cards table between a bird-nosed woman with three-strand pearls and a middle-aged gentleman. He was across from another man, slim-bodied and with thick hair that fell to his nape, brilliant green hooded eyes that alighted on Tony when he sat across from him. Tony already knew his type after days cycling through Natasha’s swaths of guests, he was trouble.

Tony felt a thrill of anticipation. Trouble was definitely the challenge he needed tonight.

He was dealt in, the poker table almost full with six players. Natasha had taught him how to play, and like most things that dealt in mathematics and probability, he was quick to pick it up. The cards went around and Tony lost himself in the game, the odds and the bluffs and the calls until it was just him and Green Eyes.

“Careful, Tony,” Natasha said, her voice holding amusement when she found him hours into the game. She draped her arms over Tony’s chest in a relaxed hug, her chin tucked on his right shoulder near his ear. “Loki is quite the card shark.”

“To be noticed by the proprietress of such a fine business,” Loki said, pressing his hand against his heart, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “You flatter me, Natasha.”

“I assure you, I did not mean to,” Natasha returned drolly, not shifting from her position using Tony as a resting spot to drape herself on. Tony didn’t mind, relaxing into the embrace and letting the conversation flow over his head as he focused on his cards.

“Oof,” Loki drew back slightly, smile a full-blown unapologetic smirk. “What could I have done to displease you this time?”

Natasha pretended to think, “Hmm, well, there was that time you decided to bring your two hooligans into my establishment.”

“That was six months ago!”

“My girls are still scarred,” she sniffed.

Loki ignored her, dropping his cards in triumph on the table. “Straight flush, diamonds.”

Tony drops his hand.

“Impossible.” Loki looked at him, shock in his gaze. “You cheated me.”

“Only because I noticed you cheating first,” Tony shrugged unapologetically, throwing aside his Royal Flush to pull his chips across the table. “Natasha warned me about you, but she didn’t warn you about _me_.” Tony bared his teeth. “I’m something of a mathematical prodigy; a cheater can’t beat a cheater if they are unaware of the cheating.”

Loki’s brows drew together thunderously and for a moment, Tony is absolutely sure he’s going to shoot up and make a scene and he tensed in preparation. Seeing his ready stature, the smirk once again makes an appearance on Loki’s face and he suddenly claps his hands together and starts laughing raucously. “Well, little mockingbird, looks like you’re beating me at my own game,” he said, green eyes appraising the younger man admirably. “Shall we go again?”

* * *

“Natasha, this is too much!”

“Darling, please. You’re not playing housewife this week. As my guest of honour, I’m going to treat you like a king.” She snapped her fingers and from the kitchen doors poured a swath of servants carrying endless platters of food, enough to feed two armies. She rose her glass, “Tonight, in celebration of my cousin, we feast!” Cheers went around the table as everyone toasted their wine to Tony and dug into their food. It was the loudest, most extravagant and the most carefree dinner party Tony had ever been to. No one held back on account of manners, speaking and laughing freely and sharing stories about clients that made Tony’s ears burn.

He had to admit, it was the most fun he had had in a long time.

* * *

Tony knew he had a job to do and that he was supposed to trust Natasha, but this gold dust _itched_.

“Are you sure I have to put it everywhere Nat? What’s the point in putting it on my legs and chest if the only thing people are going to see is my face?”

“We have to be thorough Tony, we can’t have people guessing that this is just a disguise and you’re going to be competing with many more elaborately dressed people to get Gibbons’ attention. He’s the type of man that only wants the one person that everyone else wants. Therefore, we have to make you the most desired man in all of New York.”

Natasha sorted through the various pieces of red fabric, looking for something to work as a belt for the thing Tony wore that passed for bottoms. It had slices up along the sides of the legs that only appeared if someone was looking at him from a certain angle, but he guessed that even the possibility of one person seeing his skin was enough of a reason to cover it up.

It would make it easier later that no one would be able to track him down if they didn’t know the colour of his skin.

“Wouldn’t it be better if it was you acting as bait then? You’re already beautiful.”

“No, darling,” Natasha smiled at the compliment, but kept on her task, raising a few pieces to Tony’s gold skin before clucking her tongue and tossing it aside. “Gibbons is much too familiar with me already and hates me through James. Which will work in our favour when I show up with you on my arm, he won’t be able to resist stealing you from me; he’ll see it as one-upping me. Now come,” Natasha had the maids position his body with his arms outstretched, “we need to put the second coat of dust on your chest and then the sealant so it doesn’t shift when we put your clothes on over it.”

She took the red fabric that made up his costume from the women who walked it from steaming out its endless folds so it would flow like liquid over his body. Moving behind him, she held up the fabric and started mumbling to herself as she compared the cut and density to his skin.

“No, it won’t work,” she muttered and Tony turned as much as he could to see her.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, worriedly. It would be a mess if they had put in all this effort to do his skin-painting and dusting, the kohl lining his eyes, the small jewels threaded through his hair in strands of gold and ruby, all for it to not work.

“Not, just some more extra preparation that we need to do,” Natasha faced him head-on, face strict. “We need to strip you and dust you _completely_.”

“Dust me com—Wait, do you mean—?”

“Yes.”

“No!” Tony scrambled away from the reaching hands, clutching his last piece of modesty to him desperately.

“Tony, we have no choice, with the cut of the fabric, and the potential transparency in certain lights, we have to make sure you are flawless. We need to paint everything.”

“No, I absolutely and irrevocably refuse.”

Fifteen minutes later found Tony in front of the three-panelled mirror he had used before, a white sheet blocking him and protecting his dignity as he swore angrily and painted his ass in brilliant gold dust.

* * *

Tony started to panic as they arrived at the venue, certain that no way in hell he could pull off charming an entire room full of people and make them see him as the most desirable man in New York City, no matter how much gold he was wearing.

His outfit was the most flamboyant thing he had ever put on, needing an entire afternoon and an army of maidservants to make it look the way it was supposed to. Originally there had been a vest piece that would cover Tony’s chest, but after they had tied the ropes around his torso, Natasha decided that it was more striking if they had abandoned the vest altogether. Instead, they had just added more intricacy to his outfit, detailing symbols in a more burnished shade of gold on the side of his neck and down his spine, curving along his chest like blossoms.

He hadn’t recognized himself when he looked in the mirror, the transformation one that made his reflection look alien to his eyes. But under all this shimmering gilt, he was the same old Tony who did not grow up in this world and wasn’t naturally comfortable with its excesses. And he had no idea how to be the kind of person who was.

“What if someone recognizes me?”

“No one will recognize you. Hell, I barely recognize you and I’ve been with you all afternoon,” Natasha addressed him firmly. “Tonight, you are not Tony Stark, son of deli owners Howard and Maria Stark. For the next few hours, you will be someone completely new and no one here will have any idea of your history or your troubles. You have a clean slate, to be whoever you want to be.”

“I don’t know who that is though,” Tony whispered back, trying not to trip on his long hem.

“Yes, you do,” Natasha reminded him. “This is a job, Tony, and you have always excelled when you have a purpose. We have a job to do here, and you are acting as an agent in order to get the information we need about the locations of the underground fighting rings. Just focus on that and don’t worry about anything else.” She straightened a curl where it had twisted from the wind. Do you remember the details of your alias?”

“Yes,” Tony nodded, taking a deep breath and trying to calm his nerves. “I’ll be one of the works of art at the event, trying to attract a patron. I’m to reject everyone other than target, Nathaniel Gibbons.”

“And do you remember the name you chose?”

Tony nodded again, feeling his cheeks heat in embarrassment at his choice, but it was the first one he thought of and it was too late to change now.

Pulling his cloak closer to his body, he exited the car and made his way to the entrance. They gave their invitations and were led deeper inside the hall, to the ballroom where the gala was held. Attendants came towards him, pulling the cloak off his body and baring the full expanse of his golden skin framed by brilliant red fabric and tantalizing red rope to the masses. The cool air was a shock to his heated skin, but it felt good, daring and forbidden in a way that caused a tingle under his skin.

He let himself be admired, feeling the eyes of the crowd as if they were hands on his skin, surveying the way the guests turned in a wave to look at him as he stood above them, ready to make his descent. Catching sight of a familiar blond head, he subtly eyed Steve from his vantage point, watching as he stepped up towards James. They didn’t notice his momentary attention, turned to each other like two perfectly complementary chess pieces. He caught a movement between their bodies, a glimpse of clasped hands before he forced his gaze away, to continue scanning the crowd as if he was just taking it all in.

Stifling the flash of pain at the realization that they had done it, had joined together in his absence, he started making his way down into the crowd. He just needed to separate himself, focus on the job he had come there to do and compartmentalize. He could push aside his feelings to deal with later.

Right now, he wasn’t Tony Stark. He was an agent with a duty.

Bodies converged on him the moment he touched ground, members of the crowd eager to meet the newest artwork. Seeing the desire writ plainly on the admiring and envious gazes that fastened on his form, Tony felt a surge of sensual power and pride in his appearance. Whether or not he truly was the most desirable man in New York was beside the point, he would convince all these people that they _believed_ he was. 

A familiar face made its way through the crowd toward him, and Tony couldn’t help the genuine smile that broke out on his face. Loki was dressed as formally as the rest of the guests, resplendent in the traditional black suit with a flattering cut.

“Exquisite Yash,” Loki greeted expansively, “you look positively good enough to eat.”

“Oh Loki, darling,” Tony drawled with a slow smile, allowing his voice to carry and the man to brush kisses on his cheeks, “I promise to be the most delectable forbidden fruit.” He winked. “To those that can afford me.”

Those that watched him like a zoo animal on display laughed at his speech, shocked and delighted at his haughty words and Natasha’s lips tilted in a satisfied little smirk. The trick was working.

Tony kept his head high, his gaze direct as they moved through the various influential guests, not letting himself feel intimidated by the amount of power and wealth in the room. It was like the schoolyard playground. All the people who looked like they were entitled to something because of their status of their titles, the length of their lineage, the number of zeros in their bank accounts, all fats cats trying to one-up each other. They didn’t ask for what they wanted, they demanded it and ridiculed anyone who dared to question them. It was all a game, a bluff that Tony was intent on pulling off.

“You’re doing well, little mockingbird,” Loki murmured to him as he led him through the crowd.

“I guess those card games were good for something other than ruining your pocketbook, then,” Tony replied back, stumbling to a halt as a server stepped into his path abruptly to hand him an embossed cream card. Loki reached out to his hip to grab him, preventing Tony from faceplanting on the floor while also making it seem as if he was being extra flirtatious and eager to have Tony to himself. Instead of letting go immediately, Loki’s touch lingered, tickling the side of Tony’s hip lightly.

He knew Loki meant nothing by it—after beating him at cards they had spent many hours discussing their families. Loki was openly adoring of his children, the type of father who would dole out a punishment, like forcing them to clean out the pigeon coops on the roof of their building as a penalty for fighting in school, but then linger and surreptitiously observe them to make sure that the kids weren’t cutting their hands on the wire or being pecked to death by temperamental pigeons.

His partner he was more close-lipped about. He would make endless quips of being “too good for the oaf,” but the moment Thor showed up to escort Loki back at the end of the night, he obediently went even as he sassed him. Thor was the only one who seemed to have the unique ability to shut Loki up, an amused smile all it would take to get Loki blushing and after the first time Tony caught a glimpse of _that_ , well he knew for certain that Loki was all bravado. Even if he had a choice, he wouldn’t move from Thor’s side.

Taking the card, Tony held it up so Loki and Natasha could read it as well, brows rising collectively as they took in the first bet for Tony of the night.

“Sixty-seven thousand,” Loki whistled lowly. “A respectable first bet. That Michael Johann is serious.”

“Too bad it’s not good enough,” Natasha murmured back, taking the card and slipping it into the small purse at her wrist. It was a delicate drawstring thing in a dark shade of red that matched her dress and embroidered with roses. It looked too beautiful to be holding poison, but Tony guessed that that was the point.

“Incoming.” Tony turned at Loki’s warning, guided by the light touch at his waist and suddenly finding himself locking eyes with one James Buchanan Barnes. He looked unfairly attractive in his freshly trimmed hair and double-breasted white tuxedo jacket, the breadth of his shoulders highlighted devotedly by the fabric. His outfit was simple but striking, the fall of his black pants and the shine of his shoes worn easily on him as if he was as comfortable in formalwear as he was in shirtsleeves in a boxing ring.

But his eyes were always the most beautiful, shining in his face like pieces of arctic ice. They shone cold, but inexplicably Tony felt himself grow hot under those blue-grey eyes. Watched like prey, the same desire painting on the other guests of the crowd present in James’ face as he surveyed Tony’s ensemble. They moved over his bared and golden skin, the bright fall of red, none of the little details missed as they were traced over by James’ eyes with such intensity Tony felt like there were finger light touches on his skin.

As if from a distance, he heard Loki making introductions, calling Natasha as Lady Aline Kosov, letting him go to shake James’ hand and pulling away when he saw the way the gold dust had latched onto him from when he had saved Tony from falling.

“And this is Yash.” Tony jolted as he felt the twin sensations of Loki’s comforting hand returning to his hip just as James reached out to grab him and tug him close as he had a million times before. In the ring, in the kitchen, in the study for their first kiss, the Barnes living room where he pulled him into his arms, a million moments of being tugged into James' arms converged to give Tony’s the greatest sense of déjà vu.

He was shocked out of his trance when he felt lips press against the skin of his wrist, James bent over his hand the way Steve had when he was trying to win Natasha’s trust. Trying to woo her into sharing her contacts.

“ _Yash_ , what an interesting name,” James teased, rising from his bow but not letting go of Tony’s hand. Tony’s face heated as he remembered why he chose that name, reassured by Natasha that James would be keeping his distance all night and wouldn’t even know about how Tony had stolen and bastardized his nickname for his own selfish needs.

“It’s Indian, from my great-grandfather. It means fame.” It was, and it did, the Stark bloodline mixed all to hell, but it was just another reason for why the name fit. It wasn’t the main reason.

Tony had wanted to hold some part of the men he loved to him, give him some comfort in an intimidating situation, and so he had chosen Yash because every time he heard it he would think of Yasha, of a friend who he had fallen in love with, who had filled in the empty slots in their home until it belonged to Steve, Tony and James equally.

“That must be the explanation of why you’ve captured the attention of the entire room tonight.” James was flirting with him, Tony knew, but what he didn’t understand was _why_. There was no reason for him to be friendly with him anymore, he and Steve were obviously together now and while Tony knew that _he_ had feelings for them both, James had only ever loved Steve. Hell, he had basically sworn himself to the blond, tattooing their words on his skin in remembrance and love, devotion and promise.

_You already have Steve, I have nothing more to give you._

Tony was tempted to yank his hand away, but he was very aware of the eyes of the crowd upon them, the way the various patrons watched with keen interest at the interaction of the mob ruler of New York and the human artwork that had caught his eye.

“Maybe,” Tony finally replied, extricating himself from James’ hold before he lost complete control of the situation and James’ possessive hold scared any other patrons from making a bid. “Or maybe they’re just intrigued by what they don’t understand, by whatever is the most exotic and exciting at the moment.” _Weren't you the same? Wasn't I just a passing interest when you couldn't focus on Steve?_

“I find it hard to believe that you’re the type of person to only be interesting in the moment, Yash.”

_Liar._

Knowing that he needed to get away, that he needed to focus on their task and not his still uncertain future with Steve and James and their feelings for each other, Tony pulled away and moved back to Loki and Natasha who flocked to him immediately.

“Unfortunately, that’s for my patron to find out, not you.” Tony nodded his goodbye, unable to manage more words and not knowing how long it was going to be til they next met, but praying that he didn’t run into Steve. He heart wouldn’t be able to handle it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YO READ THIS
> 
> If you’re someone like me who lives with nightmares in your head, this trigger warning is for you. There is homophobic language, attempted assault, mentions of rape and bloodwork in the chapter. Tap out and take care of yourself if you need to.

“Thank you,” Tony reached out to take the card from the server, smiling slightly at the way the poor guy blushes glancing over Tony’s bared skin.

“How old are you?” he asked curiously, taking in the open eyes and fresh-faced skin.

“Twenty-two, sir,” the server said, tilting his head down as if shy, gaze still flickering back over Tony’s markings, the red rope that stretched tight over the skin of his abdomen. Seeing the way Tony watched him, he tore his gaze away, blush spreading and turning his ears red.

“Oh,” Tony murmured, momentarily thrown by the fact that this man was older than he was by at least two years and yet he seemed so _childish_. Innocent in a way that Tony could not comprehend being.

_Have I ever been that young?_ Not for a long time. Howard never gave him the chance, and the trajectory that his life has taken him on, he didn’t expect innocence to survive long. He couldn’t imagine putting this young man through beatings and rounds in the boxing ring, didn’t see in his eyes the weight of bandaging bruised ribs and icing black eyes at all hours of the night, the hunted tension of paranoia in his stance.

_But do I regret it?_ Steve’s face flashed in his mind, memories of candlelight and oils and love in his eyes, on his tongue as he kissed Tony. As if he was feeding it to him, forcing him to believe he mattered.

“Thank you,” he said, pushing aside his thoughts and dismissing the server, turning his gaze to the card in his hand. Shock echoed through him, frosty and bright as he ran his thumb across the familiar writing, feeling the indents of the words in the thick cardstock.

“Idiot,” he shook his head, pressing the words into the pad of his thumb. Wanting them to cut into his skin and push away the doubt in his mind.

**_Name_ ** _: Steven Grant Rogers_

**_Bid_ ** _: Everything I am, everything I have, it’s yours._

For a mad moment, he wants to abandon this mission, throw off the hands that keep reaching for his gold-encrusted skin, push through the crowd and find Steve. Hunt him down like a bloodhound and propel himself into his hands until all he feels is full, complete— _whole_.

Then he remembers joined hands and tattooed promises—and chokes on _loss_ before viciously shoving it aside.

“What did you get?” The man next to him leaned over, Edward Briggs, the second son of a wealthy Bostonian family only in town for the weekend. He’d consumed more whiskey than food over dinner, but he was harmless. Self-deprecating and smooth, he was charming enough that Tony had flirted back when he had teased him. Had fun.

Tony casually turns the card over, pulling it away and tucking in one of the pockets in the folds of his costume, but he isn’t fast enough to evade the prying eyes.

“Steven Grant Rogers?” Edward exclaims, no sense of discretion left in his whiskey-laden mind and Tony inwardly winced as heads turn towards them. He paints a smug grin on his lips, letting them draw their own conclusions of how much Steve is willing to pay for him. Mob lord who makes his money on the wrong side of the law or not, Steve is one of the wealthiest men in this room and all of them know it.

Tony can see the calculations ticking away in their mind, judgment in those refusing to take part in the pool—that say he’s a whore for selling himself even as they enjoy the show he’s been putting on.

“Sir,” the young server was back, another card in his hand.

Reading over it, Tony suppressed a triumphant grin, ready to kiss Briggs for his loud mouth.

_Meet me after dinner. Room 212. NG._

There’s no bid, the arrogance of Gibbons seeping off the card, but Tony doesn’t care. He’s caught his fish.

Dinner couldn’t end soon enough, Tony signalling Natasha with the sweep of his pinky along a dusted brow.

A touch against her collarbone, lashes flickering down. _Do you need me?_

_No,_ Tony motioned back. _I’ve got this._

He headed out into the hallway, sliding between members of the crowd and evading anyone who tried to rope him into conversation. They were separating out into two groups, the older and influential gentlemen moving towards the smoking rooms, various artworks paraded on their arm like spoils of war. The rest of the guests moved back into the ballroom, to continue with their dancing and drinking and gaiety, the only aim they had for the rest of the night to socialize and enjoy themselves. 

He trailed down the hallway, counting doors that all looked exactly alike until he came to 212. Breathe. One, two. Ready.

Knocking, he waits until a voice calls out “Enter!” before stepping inside.

“Good evening, Mr. Gibbons.” Tony moves into the room, breathing in the scent of cigar smoke that lingers in the air. It’s dimly lit, a couple of sconces on either side of the room providing a warm little glow, illuminating the figure sitting in an armchair by the mantle. The fire is banked in the fireplace behind him, leaving only glowing embers that give off little heat.

“Yash, is it?” The man rose, picking up two glasses of champagne from the table next to him and moving towards him. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“It didn’t seem like an offer I could refuse.”

He took the glass, smiling warmly. Gibbons wasn’t traditionally handsome, nose just a shade too long, mouth wide but thin but he is striking. He’s tall, towering over Tony’s five foot six frame with at least six inches to spare. There’s signs of age showing in the jowls of his chin, the spots on his hands as he hands Tony a glass. 

“Come sit with me,” he beckoned, guiding Tony to the lounge. It’s expensive, carved along the back and the arms, cushioned in dark blue and Tony drapes himself in the corner, thinking of the way that Natasha moves, the way she shifts and slides her body in a way that screams sensuality and tries to mimic it. He angles his body to Gibbons, crossing one knee over the other and artfully reveals the slits that climb up the sides of his pants.

Gibbons falls for the trick, brown eyes climbing up Tony’s body like a ladder and he smiles at what he sees.

“Satisfied with your purchase?” Tony asks, bringing the champagne up to his lips and sipping, enjoying the bubbles on his tongue and examining Gibbons through his lashes. Gibbons copies his movement, taking a long swig before setting it aside.

“Very,” a heavy hand falls on Tony’s leg, thumb sweeping upward. Tony chokes down a wave of disgust, careful not to tense. “I’ve been watching you all night.” He laughed. “You sure know how to work a crowd, don’t you? They were eating out of your hand, thralls of the Pied Piper.”

“I assure you,” Tony smirked, lips teasing at wickedness, “I don’t lead anyone anywhere they don’t want to go. Any victims are voluntary.”

“Do you intend to make me one of your victims, Yash?” That hand, it got bold and moved upward, gripping Tony’s bare hip, pulling him closer. Tony didn’t let himself get pulled too far, putting a hand on Gibbons’ chest in a soothing movement, making sure that there was an arm length between them.

“You’re the one who bought me, remember?” Tony pressed the rim of his champagne glass against Gibbons’ lips, encouraging him to take a deep swallow. If he got him drunk, he could get him to talk. “I think you’re misunderstanding who has power in this room.”

Gibbons’ smiled, pleased and Tony files that away. Huge ego, check. Likes to hear his own inflated sense of importance supported by others. He puts the glass to Gibbons’ lips again, having him finish the glass with coaxing strokes to his cheek. When Gibbons’ reaches out for him after, he avoids the grab and rises.

“More champagne? Or do you prefer whiskey?”

“I prefer anything you give me, sweetheart.” And that endearment is forever ruined.

Moving to the side cabinets, he looks through the various decanters, pulling out a few and smelling them. Natasha had slipped him a small pill to slip to Gibbons’ drink, something that worked like truth serum if he understood it right. The bad side was that it needed something extra strong to mask the initial scent.

Tony took a whiff of a scotch and flinched back defensively. Yep, that was the one. Feeling like he had the hair peeled from his nose, he poured a generous amount. Glancing over his shoulder, he met Gibbons’ eyes watching him, that hunger still in his gaze.

“Why don’t you remove your jacket? Get more comfortable.” When the man nodded and turned away, Tony took the bare moment to pull the pill out of one of his pockets and dropped it in the scotch. Swirling it to make the bubbles dissipate, he hid his movement with putting away all the rest of decanters.

“Leave it, someone will come clean up after us,” the licentious smirk said enough about after _what_. 

Tony swallowed down his gorge. “Old habits,” he says instead. “My mother raised me never to leave a mess, especially if I made it.”

He brought the drinks over to the table, handing Gibbons’ his. “I picked something that seemed older, a refined palate to match a refined man.”

That pleased smile again and Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was too easy.

He sat back down on the couch and they toasted. Tony watched as Gibbons’ downed half the drink in one go, then seized as his body tried to reject it.

“Well,” he coughed. “That’s very…bracing.”

“Did you not like it?” Tony turned hurt eyes to Gibbons’. “I’m sorry, I was trying so hard to get something to suit you.”

“No, no,” he denied hurriedly, “that’s fine, it’s good, invigorates the blood.” He drank down the rest of the scotch, wincing.

Cheering inside, Tony started talking about anything that came to mind, small talk that will fill the ten minutes that he needed for the drug to work. He still didn’t know how he was going to prevent Gibbons’ from becoming suspicious, but so far things weren’t going terribly. Maybe he could pretend the doctor Banner was a family member or something. Or say that someone he knew got approached for a fighting ring and went missing. Caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the change in Gibbons’ until it was too late.

“I know what you are, you know,” he said congenially, and Tony tried not to jerk away when Gibbons’ wrapped a long arm around him and pulled him up against him. “You may have fooled all those idiots in there that you’re normal, that you’re just an extravagant, beautiful man, but I can see the truth in you. You’re a deviant, and you’ve come to tempt good, upstanding men like me into your twisted ways.”

“From the way you acted, I thought you shared my _ways_ ,” Tony said haltingly, fear sinking into his bones at the shift in Gibbons’ entire persona. The man that had been flirting with him and drank down a bad drink to prevent hurting his feelings was gone and in his place was someone Tony didn’t recognize.“Why would you buy me if you hate those like me?” 

“None of them are strong enough to be able to control one like you, living in disgrace of the way of God.” Something ugly flashes in his eyes and the hand on his hip took on a disturbing meaning, not to hold close, but to hold _down_. “You need a firm hand to tame you, show you how someone of your _tastes_ , should act.” The hand on his hip rises to the back of his head as Gibbons’ other hand reaches to his fly, opening the buttons and Tony seizes in terror as his head is pushed down.

* * *

“What do you mean, Tony’s _missing_?” James snarls. “You had a view of him all through dinner, how could you let him just slip through your sight like that? What’s _wrong_ with you? How could you be so careless?”

“Enough,” Natasha interrupts James’ berating Steve whose furious eyes glared into his own. She stepped up to their little circle with Tony’s boy toy in tow, the dark-haired charmer with the wicked green eyes. “I know where Tony is, just as dinner ended he received a bet from the target and arranged to meet him in a private room.”

“Are you insane?” Steve said, James watched as the vein on his forehead swelled up, twitching in the rapid beat of his anger. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? You were supposed to go _with_ him, provide back up and make sure that Gibbons doesn’t try to force himself on Tony. If the bid is high enough Natasha, the patron expects sex and you know even if Tony fights back that’s not going to dissuade Gibbons from trying to fuck him. You know the kind of monster he is, he has no compunctions about forcing his way, _why would you let him go alone?_ ”

“I gave Tony a pill, it should help him get the information from Gibbons easily.”

Loki nods in agreement, “It’s a pill we’ve used before in other situations. It is highly effective.”

“You mean RX-260?” James asks. “What kind of situations have you used it in?”

Natasha gives him a look. “You know what kind.”

“No,” James shakes his head, frustrated. “Were the people you were questioning tied up when you were doing it? Were you in an enclosed, private space?”

“Of course,” Natasha’s tone clearly said she thought that was a stupid question. “Like we would torture the truth out of someone in public.”

James moves to the door of the ballroom, making a discreet signal that peeled Dimitri away from where he was acting as one of the guards and to them.

“That has a lesser-known side effect, Tasha,” he says lowly, knowing they have to find Tony _now_. “It doesn’t only compel folks to tell the truth, it also brings out the truth of their personalities and with Gibbons, it’s going to tear down that polite society mask that he’s wearing. It’s going to take all the worse things about his personality and bring it to the forefront and not only is he not going to have any compunctions about taking Tony against his will, he's going to _revel_ in it. That sadistic streak of him is going to get a spotlight shined on it by that stupid little pill and the man I love is going to suffer because of it!” Steve reaches out for him but he shakes him off, not willing to be soothed right now.

Natasha’s face pales at James’ words. “I didn’t know that.”

“You would have if you’ve asked,” James snaps back brutally, worry and fear and panic twisting him up inside. “That’s the reason we only use RX when we’ve already tied up and subdued the subject, otherwise they’re too volatile.” Dimitri steps out into the hallway with them and James nearly pounces on him in his desperation.

“I need you to tell me where Tony is.”

Dimitri proves immediately why he’s James’ second in command, pulling out a card from his pocket. “A copy of Nathaniel Gibbons’ message, delivered to Mr. Stark right as dinner ended.”

“Let’s go,” James starts moving down the hall but Natasha pulls him back.

“Yasha, wait,” she flinches when James turns his murderous gaze at her but doesn’t back down. “I know that I messed up but we can’t all just go marching into there. If we go too early and nothing’s happened then everything we’ve done tonight is wasted. All that Tony has done for us becomes worthless. We need to play this smart, find out what’s happening in that room before we just go barging in.”

“You have a way to see inside?” Steve asks, arms folding across his chest. His face is wiped away of all emotion and James takes comfort in his calm, even while understanding that it’s a forced and a painted façade hiding the way Steve’s panicking inside.

“I may have made a miscalculation with the pill, but I didn’t come completely unprepared. Follow me.”

“Wait,” this time it’s Loki that stops them. “Five people leaving all at once is too conspicuous, we’ve already risked enough gathering out here in the hall.”

Steve nods in agreement, “We should split up.”

“Since Natasha is playing arm candy tonight—sorry, love—it’ll be easy to dismiss her as your plaything,” Loki says. “People might think it weird that you want to share, but it’s not the worst thing they’ve heard about you so it should be fine. Dimitri and I will return to the party and keep an eye on things there.”

All in agreement, they headed off in opposite directions.

Natasha turns and walks away from the direction of Tony’s room and James forces down the desire to say fuck it and run back in the direction they were going in, mission be damned if it meant Tony was safe. Much as he hated it, he knew that the slow game was what mattered here.

They push through a doorway down the hall, the door looking like every other but instead if leading to a room it led to a different hallway, this one dim with bare walls, wide enough for them to only walk single file. “There were servant corridors built into the walls when the building was originally made in 1845,” Natasha explains, leading them further in. “Back then the mentality was that children were seen and not heard and servants were heard—doing all the work of the house—but not seen.”

Their tiny corridor branched off in different directions, a maze of rooms and more thin pathways. Natasha moved confidently forward, the way mapped out in her head. She was worried about Tony too and felt a sick pit in her stomach at the thought that she put him in harm’s way, that she might be responsible for another horror story added to the poor man’s already long list. But she believed in Tony, he had conquered his demons, had driven away Steve’s and even the darkness swathed around James with his purpose and exuberance and had even been instrumental in the warmth and openness Pepper had shown her when they had first started their dance around each other.

Thinking about her beautiful redhead, about how frantic she would be if Pepper was locked in a room with a violent abuser, she felt a new respect for James and Steve. They were holding on by a thin thread and she feared what hell would break loose if Gibbons even laid a finger on Tony.

“We’re here,” she pushed through something too poor to be called a doorway, leading to a dark space with bare pinpricks of light peeking out through the walls. “This is the room that Tony is in,” she spoke lowly, “it’s a tight fit but there’s a lever at the end that opens a passage into the room from a hidden alcove. Sound will carry, so be careful.”

“You’re not staying with us?”

“No,” she murmurs, “I’m going to help Loki keep a handle on the crowd, see what other information I can dredge up from the men there.” She gestured to her dress. “I didn’t get all dandied up just to stand in a dingy corner like a peeping tom. I’ll be of more use outside.”

With that she left, and James and Steve ducked their heads under the low entrance to enter the shadowy space. Natasha was right, it was a tight fit, especially with the bulkiness of their bodies, but they made it work.

Steve went first, taking up a position by a peephole while James made sure and shut the door to hide the light coming from the corridor. Dim as it was, he wasn’t taking any chances of anyone stumbling upon them.

“Shit,” he hears Steve breathe out behind him and the vise in his chest twists harder.

“What is it? Is he hurt?” James presses an eye to his own peephole and understands immediately what had Steve swearing.

Tony is standing in the centre of the room, knife twirling in his hand expertly, one gold hand already marked with red.

Nathaniel Gibbons sits bound in front of him, the ropes from Tony’s costume tied around his wrists and wrenching his hands to the carved arms of the sofa. There're cuts visible on his arms, staining the sleeves of his shirt with violent red and dripping with horrendous delicacy in a latticework of blood.

They watch, mesmerized as Tony stands in front of Gibbons like an avenging angel, barely catching his words as he demands answers from the pudgy man. Gibbons struggles to choke out the answers through the other strand of rope that wraps around his neck like a necklace, threaded through the carvings there and keeping his upper body from moving.

Whatever he says must not be what Tony wants to hear because he advances toward Gibbons, who starts pleading with increased desperation that does nothing to stop Tony from carving another mark into the skin of his arm like a horrible mimicry of the symbols that dance down his own arms.

“S,” they make out Tony saying. “For the girl Samantha that you raped at the brothel. Do you remember her? You bribed her into your room with promises that you’d give her enough money to go to school if she just sold herself to you. And then you tied up like this and laughed in her face when you told her no whore was good enough for education, only for spreading her legs. In fact,” Tony cut another ‘S’ into Gibbons’ skin. “Let’s give you another S, for spreading, shall we? Since you seem so fond of it.”

Gibbons sobbed, new tears joining the ones that had already soaked in his skin.

“Didn’t think I knew about her, did you? Unfortunately, I spent some time in the brothel just before meeting you.” Tony smiled, and James’ breath seized in his throat with _want_ at how beautiful and vengeful he was. “I heard a lot of stories.”

“ _Steve_ ,” his lover’s name tore out of his throat, wrecked and pleading because he _needed_ Tony in his arms right now, have him under him and be in him and mark and muss the dust on his skin until they both ended up covered in gold.

But until then, he took advantage of the cramped closeness of their location, shoving Steve up against the wall dropping to his knees in the space between his legs.

“God, James, we can’t,” Steve tried to stop the hands that reached for his belt but James just batted him away. He could feel how hard Steve was, he was just as aroused by Tony’s wicked violence as James was.

“Watch Tony,” James says, pulling out Steve’s cock and revelling in the hard line of heat in his hands. “Tell me what he does.”

Then without any preamble, he swallowed him down, not resisting when Steve’s hips jerked towards him and buried himself deeper down James’ throat. God, he couldn’t _breathe_ , his own eyes rolling up in his head at the pleasure of Steve using him, fucking into his mouth. James could barely see anything in the darkness. It made everything sharper, more intense and he felt like he was drowning.

Steve didn’t try to resist, eyes locked on Tony’s graceful, bloody hands, the fluid way he moved, the unapologetic way he doled out pain even as he shoved his hand in James’ hair. Holding him to him and he rocked into the hot heat of his mouth, the canal of his throat, curses flowing as he felt James swallowing around him.

“He’s moving,” Steve choked out, almost blacking out as he felt James increase suction like he was trying to suck his brains through his cock. He resisted the urge to just grab his head and fuck his mouth, have him choke on his cock, weeping and drool dribbling down his chin while he spilt all over his mouth and dirtied it even more. Made it wet and sloppy.

But he didn’t want to end this too soon.

“He’s moving behind Gibbons and—oh God, he’s pulling at the cord around his neck, oh god James he’s choking him and Gibbons is sitting there struggling uselessly like a caught fish—Fuck! He’s so goddamned beautiful.” James drew off his cock at the words, tongue working frantically at the head like he was trying to worm his way into the divot there, hungry for Steve’s cum. He moved downwards, laving at his balls and sucking at them with devoted intensity.

“Yea, just like that, James, oh you’re so good for me, sucking me down like you can’t live without my cock, like you’re a whore in heat from watching out beautiful boy turn terrible and powerful. No, he didn’t need our help at all, did he? He took the beast that terrorised more than 20 women and he came and broke him instead.”

He thrust into James harder, close now, and torn between wanting James to drink him all down or to hold it his mouth and go out there to Tony and share it with him, tongues tangling as a mess of spit and seed trickled from their mouths.

“He’s moving again, he’s kneeling by Gibbons’ feet.” Gibbon’s ankles are tied together with what looks like some of the red fabric cut from Tony’s pants.

“What’s stopping him from breaking from that scrap of fabric around his legs?” Steve mused aloud, still thrusting but wanting to see what more madness Tony had in mind. “It’s delicate, he should be able to break through and kick out.” Then he saw it. “Oh God, oh fuck, James he’s tied garrotte wire around Gibbons’ ankles, the skin only protected by thin cloth. If he struggles too much, he’d sever his own feet from his body.” Overcome, Steve slammed his back. “He’s here, oh James he’s ready, he’s become the monster just like us.”

James moans around him hard, the vibrations carrying all the way through his cock and he comes, slamming his head back into the wall behind him as the waves rock through his body, fucking into his mouth until he can’t stand the sensitivity any more.

“You did so well for me baby,” Steve whispered into James’ mouth, helping him up into his arms and sharing the taste of seed that lingered on James’ tongue. He worked his hand into James’ trousers and pulled him off, his hand stripping his cock quick and brutal as James thrust desperately into his grip. He swallowed down the sounds of James’ moans, letting them vibrate through his chest and encouraging him higher. James’ orgasm slams into him with the weight of a freight train and he slumps in Steve’s arms like he’s run 10 miles.

“Tony’s done, darling,” Steve presses a kiss into James’ hair. “Let’s take him home.”

* * *

He got the information that he came for and he had no regrets about he had got it. The horror stories the girls at the house had told him swarmed his head the moment Gibbons had tried to force himself on Tony.

Broke him open, tore the monster out hungry for blood. For _justice_.

No meant nothing to a man like that, and for all the girls that he hurt, for all the nightmares he created, Tony had absolutely no regrets for what he had done.

He thought he would, but it wasn’t until he was there, knife in hand and blood spilling over hot and coppery on his skin that he realized how much he had changed from boy trembling in James’ office.

That scared youth who felt ill at the thought of blood now had hands covered in it and all he felt was _vindication_.

“Dimitri, thank goodness you’re here,” Tony says with relief as he left the room. “I left a mess in there, do you think you can arrange to have it cleaned up?”

“Of course,” the Russian nodded, “Give me a moment while I check it out.”

As Dimitri leaves, Tony takes the moment to survey his outfit. He’s a mess. The belt is gone, part of his train was missing, torn out or sliced off to use as binding and he’s flecked with blood all over. It sat like dark beauty marks against the brighter red, spots of wet, signs of violence.

Still, no remorse.

The door reopened and Dimitri steps back out. “It will be taken care of, no one will know you were responsible.”

“Thank you, Dimitri,” Tony grins, the success of the night finally catching up to him. “I have what we came for.”

Something flashes across Dimitri’s gaze and he sighs as he steps forward.

“What’s wrong?” Tony asks, worried suddenly that something had happened to the others while he was occupied. “Was someone hurt?”

“Only you, I’m afraid. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“What—” a prick in his neck, and everything goes black.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello wonderfuls! Hope you're all well. Thank you for all the responses and lovely messages, all the emotions and reactions it's all so great; my heart is too full for words.

There was a gun in his face. It was a nice gun, Smith & Weston .357 revolver with a six-round cylinder. Model 19 with a range of 150 feet. Not that that part really mattered since it was two feet away from his eyeballs, but if this was the chosen gun to kill him Steve wouldn’t be mad.

He quirked a brow. “You know I could have you executed for this.”

“That’s if you can still walk with a smoking hole in the side of your head,” Rhodes said calmly, clicking off the safety with precise movements. Frequently used by the military and the police force, the gun was held comfortably in his hand. No trembling, no uncertainty, James Rhodes was a man on a mission. “But all that nastiness can be avoided if you just answer one simple question. Where is Tony?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me, Rogers." A hint of a growl crept in, the hand tightening on the barrel. "I know that he’s no longer with Natasha, and since Peter still looks heartbroken when he comes back from school, I know he’s not at home either. So where is he?”

“I. Don’t. Know.” It was two days after Tony had gone missing and the same question was plaguing him until he could barely breathe from the mess of worry and anger.

“How can you not know? You too busy being joined at the hip with the Russians to pay attention to my best friend? What, has his value lessened now that you got Romanov with you?” A rare flash of fury passed over Rhodes’ face before it wiped clean. “Or was he just some sick replacement?”

Steve saw red. Shooting up from his seat, he grabbed the gun and twisted, forcing Rhodes to drop it or break his fingers. Using his firing arm, he grabbed him and slammed the other man down on the desk, furious beyond belief that he would dare insinuate that Tony was worthless to him just because he had James.

“That man means the world to me _and_ James, so I would choose your next words wisely before what happened to Howard happens to you. There’s a lot of pieces of a man that can be sliced and shot off before they die, and we have a lot of practice making it last.”

At his harsh words, Rhodes unexpected relaxed, going limp in his hold instead of resisting. “Thank god.”

“What?”

Rhodes slapped at his hands, “Let me up, you big behemoth.” When Steve let him go, he adjusted his clothes as if nothing had happened, tugging at his cuffs and aligning his collar until apparently he looked proper enough for his satisfaction.

“That was a test. I wanted to make sure that you were half-assing things and letting all this weird emotionality that’s been in the air lately soften your edge when it comes to protecting Tony, especially now that we don’t know who’s kidnapped him.”

“And you thought holding a gun in my face and instigating me was the way to do that?”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “I’m a military man, I like the direct approach. That reminds me.” He punched Steve in the face, snapping his head to the side with the blow. “That’s for almost breaking my hand and slamming me on the desk. We’re even now.”

Scowling, Steve rubbed at his jaw. “That was your one freebie.” He could retaliate, drag Rhodes out back and give him a beating, make good on his threat to tag-team him with James in a way that he wouldn’t appreciate but it was…nice, the comradery, the lack of fear in those that he trusted. He may be one of the most powerful men in the city but power makes you tired of having to watch your back around everyone you trusted.

Steve could make the sacrifice of some disobedience if it meant a deeper trust that went both ways.

“I’ve pulled in Fury too.” Steve pulled out the documents they collected over the last few weeks, spreading out the maps that tracked the shipping logs, the files compiled on potential suspects, their movements and known contacts and any tips they had gotten from their sources spread out across the city. “I have a feeling that whoever took Tony is involved with the fighting rings, and must have known that Gibbons gave up the details that we need to take them down. What’s harder is finding out what they’ve done to him. Hopefully, they snatched him to torture him on what he knows.”

Rhodes looked at him like he’d gone mad. “You _want_ Tony to get tortured?”

Steve’s jaw clenched, the thought of someone tying Tony down and beating him enough to make him itch for his gun. “No. But if they don’t torture him, then they don’t need him and that means he’s dead.”

Steve spent the rest of the afternoon going over all the information another time, trying to find out what they had missed, what tidbit they could shake loose that would lead them to whoever had taken Tony to begin with. They hadn’t crossed off the other drug lords. Though their sales have continued to drop since Green Flash showed up on the scene, they were smart enough to run a double play. James’ lead with the woman Luke’s men was pursuing had also turned out to be a dead end. Whoever J. Jones was, she had nothing to do with this.

His eye caught on Banner’s file. He was the first that was taken, whatever he was working on with Green Flash, whatever insight he had found was valuable enough for the suppliers to get antsy. There had been no ransom asked for so they would either kill him or keep him, depending on whether they believed that he would be an asset. Looking at the long list of accomplishments that followed the doctor’s name, there was a good chance that whoever had taken him would also see value in keeping him.

“If we follow the trail, it should lead us where we want to go,” he said, thinking aloud, still perusing the files hours later, the afternoon sun filtering in behind him.

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked from where he was seated on the couch going over files with Rhodes. They had split the stack they had, Sam working through the latest shipping manifests, examining the inventories that they had listed for any indications of drug imports. The rate of Green Flash into the city had increased over the last two months, so either they had their transporters doing more frequent, heavier deliveries or they had hired more transporters. Steve bet on the latter; profit usually correlated to expansion.

Rhodes was going over files that had been compiled by Natasha about the people in the city who had the power and means to either run or be involved in the whole operation.

“Contact Clint,” Steve ordered, mind on the good doctor. “I need him to find anything he can on Bruce Banner. Everything that’s not in this file.”

“Why now? Why weren’t we looking for him before? Isn’t that why the police pulled us in?”

“He wasn’t important before,” Steve said bluntly. “The police might have needed him but since when have we ever taken their needs into account? That’s changed, so he now becomes priority one. I have the feeling that if we find Banner, we’ll find Tony.” Steve had admittedly been lax in his approach to taking down Green Flash, more tempted by the potential profit than the pressing need to appease Detective Fury but that was before they took Tony.

Now it was a whole different kind of game and whoever was behind this was going to regret that Steve and James were now active players.

* * *

“Status update?” James squeezed his shoulders as he came up behind him. The sun had long set and even Rhodes had called it quits to head home with Sam for a few hours sleep before planning to come back the next morning. Steve was the only one left, but no matter the fact that his eyes ached with tiredness from several days with little sleep, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to fully rest until Tony was safe at home.

God, they had taken it for granted, the fact that they would be together if the shit hit the fan. And here it was, the horrible had come and they were still sitting ducks.

“I wasn’t good enough to protect him.”

James didn’t pretend to not know what he meant.

“We _will_ get him back.”

“And what if we’re too late? What then?”

“Then we kill whoever dared take him from us, and we don’t stop until they’re barely a stinking smudge on the earth.” James ran a hand through his hair. “Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” he lied. James yanked hard on blond strands.

“You haven’t slept at all in the last two days. You know how I know? Because I haven’t slept either. But you and I are going to find some soft surface and get some sleep because Tony is going to be pissed if we’re stupid enough to get shot because we’re too tired to fend off any attackers.” Steve smiled despite himself, imagining the way that Tony would sit them down and proceed to terrify them as only he could for letting themselves get injured, especially now that he could confidently wield his blades.

“I’d be glad to see that,” he murmured, letting the yawn overtake him with no fight.

“Come on,” James tugged at him without gentleness. They wouldn’t allow themselves gentleness until Tony was back with them. Walking through the hidden entrance to the house in the basement, they made their way upstairs.

They didn’t speak as they readied themselves for bed, taking care of nightly rituals with mechanical efficiency and tumbling into the bed. Pulling Tony’s pillow in between them, they breathed in the scent of him, wrapping their arms around it and each other and letting themselves sleep.

* * *

_Steve twitched at the soft press of warmth against his cheek._

_“Wake up,” a voice sing-songed, achingly familiar._

_“I don’t want to,” but the words were pushed out against the smile that arched his cheeks in a slow stretch. He reached out blind arms to grasp the body hovering above his, slight and gloriously sleep warm, pulling it tight against his chest. “You’re up early.”_

_“I woke up from a nightmare and James made me breakfast.” Warmth and joy in that voice, so much domesticity that Steve wanted to purr from satisfaction. “You know he can’t resist me.”_

_No, he wouldn’t have been able to. Steve could just imagine the way James melted at wet, pleading doe eyes like he planned to live out his life as a gooey puddle on the floor. “He’s weak against you.”_

_“And you aren’t?” Light words confident in his own appeal._

_“Please, I’m as unshakable as a mountain,” the rumbly tone travelled through his chest, reverberating into Tony’s body. “You could not shift me if you tried.”_

_“Is that so?” Tony nosed at his neck, the blade of his nose drawing a line in the sensitive arches of Steve’s throat. “And if I said I wanted you to get up this moment, spread me across your desk and fuck into me until the whole office hears how you own me, mind, body and soul?”_

_Steve’s eyes snapped open, hands clamping on Tony’s hips in preparation to lift him. “Let’s go.”_

_Tony’s laughter rang out, sparkling through the air to mix with the sunbeams arching through the windows. Steve soaked it in, feeling settled in more ways than one._

_“I missed you.” Grateful words for a returned lover._

_“I’ll always come back. You’re my heart, remember?” Gentle words for a hurting man. “Besides, it’s not like you gave me the chance to stay gone long.”_

_The body settled against him, the weight negligible but welcome and when Steve wrapped his arms around his back and trapped the body to him, Tony didn’t resist. He just melted into him, wrapping his own arms under Steve’s and over the curve of Steve’s shoulders. Hugging him. Entangling them further._

_Fluffy hair tickled his nose, smelling of orchards and fresh cream and he couldn’t help pressing a kiss to the curly mess. He didn’t dare open his eyes until he heard the door to the room open, tensing in preparation to attack whoever came to disturb their sanctuary. But Tony just chuckled, pressing him back down._

_“Relax,” he censured, shifting to settle back comfortably. “Beds aren’t supposed to move.”_

_“I need to protect you.”_

_“I can protect myself.”_

_Steve remembered bloody gold hands and choking strands and knew it to be true. But something itched at him. Something he needed to remember. “Then we protect you together, because losing you is an unacceptable risk.”_

_Tony said nothing, turning his face to the other brunette who lay down next to Steve on his side, silently pleading for help knocking some sense into Steve. James smirked at the aggravation, utterly at ease._

_“Don’t look at me like that darling, I completely agree with him,” a broad hand sifted through fluffy curls, mussing it even more and spreading the scent of oranges higher. “You’re too precious to risk.”_

_“Says the man who taught me to kill with my bare hands.”_

_James nodded, accepting the charge. “Says the man who loves you all the more for those bloody hands.” He leaned over to kiss Tony. Steve watched the way they opened for each other inches away from him, and felt whole._

* * *

Steve woke up hours later to an empty room. And raged.

* * *

He was moving, bright lights shining in his eyes, chaos and noise filtering through the fog blurring all his senses.

There’s a moment of calm in the craziness, a brief moment of waiting—for what he doesn’t know, he doesn’t even have the capacity to remember his own name let alone where he is or what he’s doing—and a furious conversation that happens near his fogged up head.

“You gave him too much,” a woman, unknown, voice measured in a way that had so much swimming underneath. A placid lake with monsters in its depths. 

“The dosage was perfectly calibrated to someone of his physiology, every gram calculated based on the measurements of his height and weight. There are just some unforeseen effects.” This voice is male, familiar.

“Caused by?”

“Unknown at this point.”

“Then you better hope these doctors are as good as I pay them to be, or—” the waiting is over, movement again starts up with speed, noise and chaos filling into the void. There is a bump, a thump, and Tony is once again lost to the world.

He sleeps.

The second time he wakes up, things are clearer and so much more confusing. He can see things now, though it is no less bright. There are people he doesn’t know, many of them, saying things that he can’t hear and can’t understand and but he can see the way that their mouths move. It’s funny, like watching a puppet show made of gaping fish. His voice doesn’t seem to be working so he laughs in his mind.

Huh, that’s a big tube. Wait, not it’s not a tube it’s a syringe, why does that look familiar—wait, no, wrong question, what’s the man in the white coat doing with that syringe is the better questi—

It goes dark again. He sleeps.

The third time he wakes up, the scenery has changed. There’s a white ceiling above him, and it takes him longer than it should for him to remember how to turn his head to look at more than just that blank stretch of whiteness.

His head is heavy, it doesn’t want to move, protests the stubbornness that rises in him that tells him that staying still gets you killed, that he needs to _keep moving, Tony and don’t ever get pinned down or you’re a dead duck and a whole lot less tasty_. Huh, the voice in his head sounds suspiciously like James. A James who apparently didn’t know about the fascinating readings he’s been doing on cannibalism and would be disgusted to know about the cultures who thought of human meat as significantly better than a roast duck.

He’d been looking forward to seeing him choke at the pictures he had found.

Now that his head was moved, he could feel that it was on a pillow which would mean that softness underneath him was a mattress and he was in a bed. Not bad, he hadn’t been expecting mattresses.

Wait, why wasn’t he expecting mattresses? Now that the thought was there, Tony needed to backtrack, finding his mind not working as it usually was. Instead of quick jumping around, it was like a dull humming. What the hell had happened to him? Where was he and why was mattresses important?

Okay, breathe. The why wasn’t important right now, he just needed to figure out where he was and how to get home. That was an objective goal. He focused on that.

He was in a private hospital room, not one that he recognized so he didn’t think that this was James’ hospital that he had been in before. The room was empty, the door open, but he couldn’t hear anything from down the hall. Private wing? He didn’t know anyone but Steve and James who could afford that, but those were also questions for later. He needed to get out of here, and this might be his only chance. He glanced down. Hospital gown, check. IV in his arm, check.

He closed his eyes, trying to do a mental scan of all his body parts. He knew that his head was there and so was his neck and they could both move. He felt for his extremities, trying to remember how one moves their toes. Was there a trick to it—there! Toes were wiggling, fingers were shifting slightly on the sheets. Thoughts of sheets travelled through his mind but he let it go, focusing on the limbs he needed to move.

There was a brief moment of panic and he struggled to feel connected to his legs, his only feeling from them like heavy weights. But no, if he could move his toes he should be able to move his legs, right? The toes were after the legs, it only made rational sense. Damnit why hadn’t he thought about picking up that biology book?

He tried again. Nope, his legs were not feeling like the walking mood. He blew out a frustrated breath, trying not to feel the panic welling within him like a geyser getting ready to blow. No, he couldn’t panic, he would be utterly useless then, move on, move on, move _on._ So the legs weren’t working, was his arms?

Yes! His arms weren’t failing him. Mostly. He got halfway up before they lost strength and he flopped back like a dead fish. Okay, so partial success. He could do this. Taking a few deep breaths, he focused all his energy on his arms, the muscles and bones on his forearm and triceps, digging his palms against the sheet to get a solid grip and provide a base to leverage himself up against. It _burned_ , but in a few panting breaths, he was sitting upright.

What the hell had been done to him?

The more Tony tried to move, the more aware he was of the deep weakness in his own body, like he was rising out of a coma. Oh, god, he wasn’t a coma patient, was he? Because those bare few movements had him feeling like he had run a mile. Uphill. With a car strapped to his body.

_Not the time._

Ignoring the way his limbs protested, he yanked at his legs with all his strength, pulling them to the edge of the bed. They tingled when he moved them, a good sign. He kept going, and when he was sitting with his legs hanging off the side, he just took the jump down. And promptly felt his IV tear out as he collapsed on the cold tile.

“Officially the worst hospital visit ever,” he swore, cursing under his breath and he tried to manoeuvre his stubborn ass legs. “I don’t care if I will die from the flu next year, I’m never going back, ever. Hospitals are bad luck for Starks.”

Apparently colliding with the floor was the wake up call his legs needed and he hobbled to his feet with stuttering steps. Clutching his IV poll to him, he leaned on it as he wheeled it out the door. Left, right, okay clear.

Where was everyone, anyway? This was obviously a kidnap. You’d think that after all the trouble they’d put in to kidnapping him, they’d stick around to make sure that he wouldn’t make a break for it the moment he woke up.

Maybe they didn’t think of him as any kind of threat with whatever they put in his system? He wouldn’t put it past them. Because let’s face it, with the way his knees were trembling from holding up his weight, he wasn’t going toe to toe with anyone soon.

He made it to the intersection of the hallway, bisected with another going in another direction. Still no one in sight, so it was definitely a private wing. And apparently he was so hush-hush that they hadn’t left anyone with him.

He’d feel special if it didn’t make him fucking suspicious about what anyone would have to gain by kidnapping him, providing medical care and leaving him alone in a private wing. None of this was adding up.

“Found you.” Tony whipped around to see Dimitri and for a moment felt relief before he caught sight of the syringe in his hand and remembered. The night of the gala, torturing Gibbons, Dimitri in the hallway and another syringe in his neck before it all went black.

“It was you? You betrayed us? Why would you do that? _Why?_ ” It made no sense, Dimitri was devoted to James, he was his second, his _friend_. “Oh, god.” This was Falsworth all over again.

Sometime while he was lost in his disbelief, Dimitri had made his way closer, and Tony stumbled back as he reached for him.

“Tony,” his voice was gentle, his face in that calm mask that used to soothe him and make him laugh every time it broke. “Let me help you, you shouldn’t be up yet, your body needs more time to heal.”

“Calm down? What happened Dimitri, did you accidentally give me an overdose while trying to _calm me down_ before?” He wished his words had the ability to cut him in Dimitri’s tracks like he wished it did, _burn_ him with the betrayal that flamed in his own gut.

“The dosage of the soporific I gave you was precise. There were just some,” the Russian paused, and his eye twitched in a tiny, minuscule flinch, “ _adverse_ effects we couldn’t have predicted. It should wear off in a few days.”

“Adverse effects.”

“I didn’t know you had any allergies,” was all he said in explanation and suddenly Tony was just _fed up_.

“Well, gee, here’s a tip, maybe don’t go _shoving foreign compounds into people_.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” And then the bastard shoved another needle in Tony’s neck. He’s so fucking tired of the world going dark.

He sleeps.

* * *

Tony groaned, feeling miserable. There was a heaviness in his head, a swollen and sour tongue in his mouth.

“Ugh,” he tried to raise a hand to his head, only to come up short as hard metal knocked against the bones of his wrist. He pulled again, still no give, the only result a shifting rattle.

Panicked now, he yanked his other hand. Same deal.

Blinking open crusty eyes that felt like they were weighed down with a year’s worth of sleep, he struggled to see what kept him chained.

“What the hell?” the sound of his own raspy voice was horrible, almost enough to shock him back into silence.

“Glad to see you awake.” Dimitri was coming into the room, dressed in a pressed dark suit. The sight of his face brought back Tony’s memory in a tidal rush, meeting him in the hall, the confusing conversation, the prick of a needle in his neck as he stared into Dimitri’s eyes and blacked out. Rage sparked quick and hot and he yanked at his bonds.

“You traitorous bastard! You drugged me?”

Dimitri tilted his head to the side. “Remarkable. More than one instance and yet you seem just as surprised every time.”

“You think this is _funny_?”

“I can definitively see where there would be an argument for humour, yes.”

“Why do you sound like that?” Tony’s brows screwed up in confusion, side-tracked before he could catch himself. “You sound more formal than usual, like a pompous asshole.”

Dimitri ignored the name-calling, unbuttoning the waist button of his jacket and sitting on the chair next to Tony’s bed. “I am well-versed in many languages, Russian is just one of many. I also have several doctorates and have studied classical literature for many years. It’s a passion of mine.”

“Oh fantastic,” Tony’s voice was dry enough to start a forest fire, “an _educated_ sociopath with kidnapping tendencies who likes to read. Be still my beating heart.”

A slight quirk appeared on Dimitri’s lips, like he was amused despite himself. “You’ll find that intelligence is something of a family trait.”

“So I’m here to meet your family? And here I am without my fruit cake." He looked around. He was back in the hospital room he had woken up in, his arms cuffed to the metal railings on the sides of his bed. Tugging at his feet, he found them bound similarly. That would make using the bathroom fun. He saw a shadow by his door, whatever guard dog Dimitri had assigned to watch him, this apparently was a whole operation. He couldn't have been working alone with the capital that would have been needed to have this wing to keep Tony with (unless being a mega-mogul was another secret Dimitri was keeping) but that opened the question to who would benefit from taking Tony. The obvious answer would be the ones with the most to gain, the ones running the fighting rings and selling the Green Flash, since Tony's intel from Gibbons had revealed that both were being controlled by the same group. 

Information that they apparently wanted to make sure Tony didn't share with anyone else. 

Tony decided to make the most of his captivity. “Let’s cut to the chase, Dimitri. Who are you working for?” Settling back in the bed, he tried to find a comfortable position where the cuffs didn't dig into his bones. 

“What makes you so sure I’m working with someone?”

Other than the shadow by the door and his musings about Dimitri's finances, there wasn't much.

_Other than a blurry memory of half-remembered words and a female voice._ He didn't know who she was, but he could at least place the man’s voice from the memory as Dimitri’s. And from what Tony had caught from their conversation, she was definitely the one in charge.

“I saw your boss,” he lied. “The night you brought me to the hospital. She was asking you if the dosage was correct and threatened that the doctors better be able to fix me or it would be your head.” Okay, so the last bit was a stretch since he had passed out before she had actually finished her sentence but Tony had been living with mobsters long enough to recognize how threats went.

“Now, since I’ve given up a _piece_ of my information, why don’t you give me something?” He said before Dimitri could start to tear his flimsy recollections apart and find out he barely had what he said, let alone had more information hiding up his sleeve.

“You’re not going free,” Dimitri said, his tone indicating that Tony would have an easier time shifting a dragon from its hoard.

“Yea, Sherlock, already guessed that one. What I want is information. Where am I?”

No change in that maddening calmness. “I can’t answer that.”

“Okay, then why am I here? Who are you working for?”

“I can’t answer that either.”

Tony snarled in impatience at Dimitri’s reticence. “Fine, what can you tell me?”

“I can tell you that you won’t be hurt. You’re too valuable alive and unharmed.”

“Now doesn’t that just make me all warm and gushy inside.” Tony smiled, it was not nice. “If you refuse to let me know anything interesting, at least tell me what you used on me. My limbs still feel like jelly.”

“I assure you that I only used the very best soporifics. The effects should wear off within the hour.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. _Thank you_ for giving me only first-rate drugs when you kidnapped me. It makes waking up handcuffed in a strange place oh so comforting.” Another yank, the clatter of metal rending the air.

The uselessness of the gesture caused a smile to twitch at the corner of Dimitri's lips and grated on Tony’s already overstretched nerves. Gritting his teeth hard enough that they ached from the pressure, he pushed himself to continue his press for answers. “Where am I, Dimitri?”

Probably sensing that Tony wasn’t going to let it go until he gave him something, Dimitri nodded. “Where you’re meant to be,” he said, like that was supposed to explain something.

“What the hell does that mean? Where have you brought me?”

“Home.” He said it calmly, with such little emotion that Tony started feeling true fear. The sociopath theory was looking more and more probable and that was a terrifying thought.

“What do you mean, home?”

“You’re exactly where you belong Tony. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you.” Terror swam up in his veins at the soothing words, stories of kids that had been kidnapped and raised to be the perfect… _whatever_ that their captives wanted playing out in his mind.

“Happy to know I’m in such good hands,” he managed weakly. He needed to get the hell out of here. _Soon_.


	13. New Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, it's been awhile....Happy New Years! Let's hope this one is better all round. Anyway, I know this is way overdue but writing is hard and writing blocks are harder. Enjoy!

Tony woke up to a commotion.

Now that he was awake, whoever Dimitri truly worked for had decided that it was too much of a risk to leave him unattended, so the empty hallways that had been present when he first woke were no longer empty. In fact, they bustled with people. Nurses, doctors, guards for his doors, the floor hummed with activity all around him, and right now they seemed to be concerned with one screaming wreck of a man.

Tony only caught a glimpse of dark hair and twisted features as a crowd of white coats rushed him by his door. And blood. What was visible of the man’s face and hands were covered in blood, his own or someone else’s Tony could only guess, staining his skin a vivid red.

The sound of his enraged roar echoed through the halls as they hurried him along, ringing out with the sounds of him trying to break through his restraints.

A veritable parade came after him, and Tony watched as uniformed men were shouted over for sutures and morphine and clear OR rooms to operate in. Pained features and black uniforms filled his view as he strained his neck up on his hospital bed, until his newly appointed guards saw him looking and slammed his door shut.

It didn’t prevent the sounds of the chaos from coming through, and Tony wasn’t able to go back asleep for a long while.

~~

Tony had already decided by the third time he woke up, he was going to escape. He was not going to wait for a rescue like a damsel in distress, he was going to get out of his situation by himself. _By the hook or the crook_ , as his mother used to say. He’d never been truly sure what that meant, but he knew that from the way she said it that she was setting out to do what she said she’d do and no one and no sense could stop her.

He could relate.

But he also knew that what made the best escape was knowledge, and right now he had none. He still didn’t know the key facts of who kidnapped him or why but whether or not he was going to risk his life to get those answers was going to be a matter of opportunity and luck. And right now, shackled to his hospital bed, he was low on both.

The only action he saw was a certain possibly fake-Russian kidnapper, who came at random intervals during the day.

“Morning Brutus,” Tony sing-songed, giving a half-wave from where he’s lying on his hospital cot as Dimitri came through the door. He was carrying a tray laden with plates, a glass and a pitcher.

“Good morning Tony,” Dimitri set down tray down without his trademark maddeningly calm face, eyes tired as he pulled the cover off a steaming plate of eggs and sausage. The other plate held a roll and some butter, though there was no knife to spread it. Dimitri didn’t trust him in the proximity of cutting utensils. “Roman traitors today?”

“Only the best for you.” His mocking grin changed to a scowl as he watched Dimitri steal one of the sausages from his plate. “Don’t you have any shame, stealing a captive man’s food?”

“I’m taste-testing it to show you that no one’s interested in poisoning you,” Dimitri elaborated, wiping the grease from the sausage off his lips. “You didn’t eat any of the dinner that was brought to you last night, I assumed the reason was because you didn’t trust us not to tamper with your meal.”

“Well, it’s not like there isn’t a precedent for it,” Tony retorted. “You already used me as a lab rat once and look what happened.”

“I already explained what happened with that.” Dimitri came close to adjust Tony on his pillows, pulling him into a seated position so he could eat. Too hungry from missing meals the night before, and only having what nutrients they’d been pumping into him from when he was asleep, Tony didn’t resist.

“Yes, but you didn’t apologize for it.”

Dimitri drew back at the seriousness in Tony’s tone. “Would it matter if I did?”

Tony considered it. “Yes,” he said slowly. “You made a mistake that put my life in danger. It matters to me if you regret that mistake.” Now that he was no longer overcome with anger at his kidnapping and the effects of the drugs Dimitri had used on him was out of his system, he was thinking and feeling more clearly.

He might worry about what Dimitri had planned for him, and about being trapped in a place where he was vulnerable and at the mercy of whoever walked through the door to his room, but his traitorous heart still held on to the hope that Dimitri didn’t really mean him harm. He still wanted to believe that the man who helped teach him how to fight and defend himself, who brought him meals after a long day and coached him through moves and breathing when he started to panic in the ring—he wanted to believe that that man was still there and still cared for him.

Even if the present circumstances were obvious evidence to the contrary.

He watched as Dimitri pulled a chair close to his bed, sat back down and concentrated on loading a full bite of eggs and sausage on a fork.

“I do regret it,” the other man said finally, raising the fork to Tony’s lips. “I had known that I was betraying your trust when I injected you, knew that when you woke up you’d be enraged and hate me. I had made my peace with that. But when your breathing started to change, became choking and difficult instead of the deep breaths of sleepI was terrified that even that outcome might never come, because you would have died from my arrogance.” He met Tony’s eyes. “I _am_ sorry, and I’m glad you’re alive.”

Tony gaped, his wide-open mouth giving Dimitri a perfect view of a mess of half-chewed eggs.

Dimitri gently nudged his mouth closed and Tony absently obeyed, processing the entirely unexpected confession. This was a different man than the unapologetic one he had woken up to. Which brought up the question: who was the real Dimitri, the cool, cutting kidnapper who laughed in the face of Tony’s betrayed feelings, or the man who fed him breakfast with dark circles under his eyes and offered him apologies?

Knowing it would be stupid to just accept the change at face value, Tony responded with flippancy. “I’m glad I’m alive too. Now I can get you back for all the suffering you made me endure during training, without guilt.” He yanked at his bonds, his handcuffs clanking noisily. “Though I’ll have to be creative to get you back for this.”

Dimitri chuckled. “Well, at least you chained up would mean that our kitchens are safe.”

Tony flashed to the moment Dimitri was talking about, when he’d accidentally on purpose caused an explosion with flour that had brought James running—he’d meant to distract him not almost bring the house down!—and couldn’t resist the slight smile that bubbled up. That was a good memory, enormous mess or no.

Actually. “Isn’t James wondering where you are?” He’d been wondering that from the moment he’d waken up. “Surely someone would have noticed that you disappeared the moment I had.”

“Someone else brought you in,” Dimitri explained, offering Tony a bite of the roll this time, butter smeared on it with the spoon. “I only saw you briefly before and after. And when I leave to come here, Winter thinks I’m out looking for you,” Dimitri smiled, a bit perplexed. “He’s running himself ragged trying to find you, and doesn’t question it when I say I’m heading to check on a lead.”

“That’s because he trusts you.”

“Maybe so, but makes him careless,” Dimitri’s tone sounded thoughtful but simmered with the slightest hint of tension. He almost sounding angry, but Tony wasn’t sure who it was at, James for trusting him or himself for betraying that trust.

“Do you feel guilty?”

Dimitri glared at him then, fiery and severe and Tony flinched back at the force of it. He’d never seen Dimitri wear his emotions so openly. “Loyalty isn’t that black and white.”

They sat quietly after that, while Tony finished the rest of the food and his stomach finally stopped feeling like it was trying to chew through him.

“So, how long do you plan to keep me like this?” Again, he gestured at his cuffs.

Dimitri looked like he’d expected the question. “Not long. You’re stable now, so there’s no point in keeping you in the medical wing. You’ll be moved later today.”

“And where might I be going?” He greatly doubted Dimitri was going to say the answer that he wanted to hear most, which was he was letting him go free.

“Your rooms,” Dimitri provided helpfully, and Tony was cautiously hopeful that if they were moving him far, to another part of the city, he could break away and get on the streets. Until he finished with, “Here, the residential area of the building.”

Well, a man could dream.

Wait. “Residential? Not a cell?” He’d been expecting a dirt floor and bars _at best_. The generosity to provide rooms, plural, was something Tony didn’t trust at all, even in the light of Dimitri’s admittance of guilt for his actions. Even if he hadn’t been lying to trick Tony into a false sense of security, the chance that Dimitri’s _boss_ would agree to treat a hostage that well? No, there was something more here and Tony wasn’t liking it.

Dimitri’s lips tilted up like Tony had said something funny. “Like I said before, you’re valuable here. Think of it as being out guest, rather than a prisoner.”

Tony hid his surprise at the statement, lazily waving a bound hand. “Kind of hard not to feel like a prisoner when I’m chained to my accommodations. Or when I don’t know who my hosts are or how long they intend to force their hospitality on me.”

“All in due time,” Dimitri reassured, patting Tony’s knee. Shockingly enough, Tony was not reassured.

But it looked like he wasn’t getting any more answers because the next moment, Dimitri was rising and saying goodbye, sailing out with the breakfast tray in his arms.

With nothing more to do, Tony lounged back on his pillows and reviewed Dimitri’s words. It was clear there was more going on here, Dimitri’s torn loyalties aside—though maybe he could use that to his advantage. Obviously, they wanted something from him, some demand that they were softening him up for. He just didn’t know what it was.

Did they want him to spy on Steve and James for them? Dimitri knew better than to expect Tony to sell them out for something as cheap as a nice room, but even if he didn’t, Dimitri was James’ second in command. He knew as much information about the two mobsters than Tony did, probably more from how deeply he was entrenched in James’ organization.

That was another thing to think about. How long had Dimitri been selling information about James on the side? And why hadn’t he told anyone about James and Steve’s _unorthodox_ sexual tastes? It would have painted a huge target on all of their backs, and if Dimitri had played it skillfully, he could have James killed off and leave the way open for him to take over.

Tony ignored how his newly eaten breakfast roiled in his stomach at the thought of James dead, trying to focus on why Dimitri wouldn’t have used all the information at his disposal to hurt them. What was his end game? And what did he owe that would cause him to betray James now?

He dropped his head back against the pillows, frustrated when the answers didn’t immediately become clear. The plain white ceiling above him offered no additional insight.

~~

Hours later, Tony was marched to his new accommodations. Blindfolded and bound, he concentrated on counting the steps and turns they made from the medical wing, trying to create a mental map in his head from the layout.

Up a wooden staircase, down another hallway and several more turns later they stopped. There were the sounds of a key in a lock, door turned and he was unceremoniously led into his new home.

Blind, he tripped over something and went flying.

Hands caught him, smaller than the grip of the men who guided him, the looming giants that had hovered in his doorway the last few days. A string of words in a language that sang to Tony rang out from the person in front of him, the husky, feminine voice sharp with rebuke. The men behind him quickly made their apologies, and rushed to remove his cuffs. 

The blindfold was pulled off and Tony squinted in the light, facing the woman who’d caught him.

For the second time that day, he was left gaping. “Aunt Sangeeta?”

She smiled at him, just as gracious and beautiful as he remembered as she wrapped him a warm hug. “Hello, _beta_.” _Son._

The Hindi jolted him, brought up half remembered memories from a long time before. He’d been younger than Peter was when he’d last seen their aunt, no more than four years old.

“What are you doing here?” He looked her over, her face and voice was the only thing that remained unchanged, other than a few more lines than the last time he’d seen her. Instead of the sari she had worn at her marriage ceremony, she was dressed in western attire.

Western _male_ attire, like the uniforms the wounded men in the hospital wing had worn, black cargo pants, long-sleeved shirt and slim, fitted vest. “Mama said that you moved away after your marriage, that you were going to live in England with Uncle Rikesh and his family.”

Her hand went to her throat, touching the mangalsutra where it lay tucked against her skin. Tony remembered when his mother had snuck him out to see her cousin’s wedding, the part of the ceremony where the groom had tied the gold pendant around her neck.

Her smile was sad as she looked at him. “Rikesh is dead, child. More than a year now.”

He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t close to his aunt or her husband. Maria had only met with Sangeeta a handful of times in Tony’s memory and Uncle Rikesh had mostly been a man he knew through word of mouth.

All he could manage was a paltry, “I’m sorry,” knowing from his own losses that it meant nothing.

But Sangeeta didn’t take offense, “I’m sorry too, about your mother. I heard about her death when I came back to the city, but by the time I came to find you, you were already living under the Roger’s roof.”

And that’s when Tony realized that he was an _idiot_ because in the shock of reunion he’d somehow forgotten that he was a captive of, apparently, his own family.

“You’re the reason why Dimitri treats me the way he does,” he realized. “He knows we’re related. You’re also the reason why he was so weird in the hospital room, why he said that I was where I belonged, that I was home. He didn’t mean the place, he meant family.”He tilted his head to the side. “Did he know who I was from the very beginning?”

“No, but he did know your mother. They were friends.”

Tony felt like she’d just told him Dimitri was part giraffe. _Friends?_ His blank faced kidnapper was a friend to his delicate, dancing mother? Aside from the fact that there was at least 10 years between then, how were they even supposed to have met?

He tried to come up with words to ask for clarification but all that came out was a garbled mess as his tongue tripped over all the questions he wanted to ask.

Seeming to understand she needed to start from the beginning, Sangeeta let out a long-suffering sigh. “This is going to be a _long_ conversation.”

She turned and led him deeper into the rooms, which turned out not to mean a toilet and bathroom but a full suite. Tony tuned out the luxury, too bewildered to gawp at fancy lightbulbs while there was the mystery of his mother’s heritage to assess. They sat in the living room, and Sangeeta poured two generous glasses of scotch, passing him one.

“You’re going to need this before we’re done.”

* * *

Clint went to Banner’s lab.

It was in a building in a bad neighbourhood. The outside was dirty with grime and graffiti, security non-existent. Clint wondered why the good doctor had chosen this place out of all others, but the answer was clear when he read through his file. This place was the best he could afford. Banner came from humble origins and wasn’t exactly raking in the dough by consulting with the police; it was expensive for him to afford his apartment _and_ a separate place just for experiments.

The room itself was a mess. And small. There was one lab table in the middle of the room and a counter with cabinets running along two of the walls. They were filled with bottles with labels in tiny, cramped writing, powders and liquids and glass and metal equipment. There was a dingy window in the back of the room, probably the only thing that made sure the man wasn’t poisoned by the fumes from his work.

Clint knocked it open the moment he walked in the room, the smell of dust and rat droppings clearing out with the wind.

Books and beakers and distillation equipment littered every available surface, scattered with random sheaves of paper. According to the assistant’s words in the police report, Dr. Banner wasn’t a neat guy. In her words, “Like all men, his thoughts on cleaning ended in ‘eventually’.”

From the state of things, Clint couldn’t say he disagreed with her exasperated assessment. 

“Find anything?”

Clint glanced at Detective Fury where he stood by the doorway, hovering like a babysitter over a troublesome charge. Steve wanted to try this whole “working together” thing with the cops so they could find Tony faster but Clint didn’t see why _he_ had to be the one stuck with the stupid nanny.

At least Fury had let him come inside the room alone.

“No.” Clint turned away, going back to looking for Banner’s notes. The police report also said all the notes on his experiments with Green Flash were missing, but if Clint bet Banner kept a copy of all his important findings. He wouldn’t have been able to discount the risk of losing all his results in a lab accident.

“What are you looking for?”

“Nothing.”

“Can I help you look for nothing?” Clint could almost hear the quotations around the word.

“No,” he said brusquely.

There was pause from Fury. “You don’t like me.”

Clint snorted, shifting away from the papers on the tabletops. They were notes on a different experiment altogether, interesting but not what he was looking for. “Don’t think you’re special. I don’t like cops.”

“Ah,” Fury’s tone was amused. “A common sentiment in criminals.”

“Like cops are any better. I bet the feeling is mutual.”

“True, but that’s what happens when folks are on different sides of the law.”

“I’ve been around enough cops to know that they’re not all paragons of virtue,” Clint said coolly. “Most are just men looking for the biggest payout, nothing especially saintly or superhuman about them.”

“Maybe so,” Fury allowed. “But there’s still good people here, people who want to do the right thing, who honour the vow to protect and serve.”

“Are you talking about yourself?”

“No, I’m talking about my partner. He was a good man.” Fury touched the patch over his eye, “Pulled my ass out of the fire more times than I can count.”

Clint took note of the past tense. “What happened to him?”

Fury looked back at him, face impassive. “He died. Killed by a Green Flash rampage. The man who did it didn’t even remember killing him the next day, and when I told him, he looked at me like he was lost. Like he’d woken up and couldn’t recognize the person he was, like he’d lost himself. He begged me to arrest him after that.”

Clint knew all too well what that was like, waking up one morning and realizing you no longer knew who you were or how your life had become what it was. Willing to do anything to repent, to change, to become something better even if the weight of the deaths on your conscience seemed like a burden he wasn’t ever going to shake. He’d struggled through molasses to get to where he was now, and he still had ghosts haunting his every step.

The silence filled up thick between them.

He went back to looking while Fury stood watch by the doorway. The cops had already searched for and found the safe where Banner kept his stash of Green Flash. That had been emptied and had no papers. 

Someone could have grabbed the notes before the police came, but if Clint was right about the guy, Banner wouldn’t have kept his notes in the safe at any rate. He would have wanted it near him, close enough to reach, write in but then put away.

And the safest place would be in plain sight.

Clint started searching the books near Banner’s table, the stacks that littered the floor near where he sat. He found what he was looking for on his right-hand side, a slim volume with ancient Greek on the spine, but pages that weren’t the right shade of old. Looking up to make sure the bulk of the table was hiding him from Fury’s gaze, he quickly flipped through. It was pages full of the same cramped writing that was on the bottles.

Tucking it away to look through later, he knocked over a stack noisily and let out a frustrated sigh for Fury to hear. “Nothing here other than some dead languages.”

Rising to his feet, he made a show of dusting off his knees. “Let’s go check out where he lived.”

~~

Someone shot at them at the doctor’s house.

Clint shoved Fury down before he got a bullet in his brain and then returned fire. His aim was good, but from the angle he was at, he only managed to wound the shooter before he got away.

“Fuck,” Fury swore. Clint looked over to see him bleeding.

“Are you dying?”

“No,” the other man twisted his arm to see the extent of the wound. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Good,” Clint turned away to look through the apartment after watching the shooter take off. He pulled down the curtains to obscure line of sight in case he came back.

“You saved my life,” Fury said, stating the obvious.

“Yea.”

It was clear that this place had been torn apart, everything overturned and ripped open. The table lay on its side, lamp shades tossed aside, books pulled from the shelves and scattered around. But despite the mess, if there were watchers on the apartment, it meant that someone believed Banner would come back here.

Clint moved to check the other rooms in case the searchers left behind anything to indicate who they were.

Finding nothing, Clint sent Fury to get treated, before he went home to get some sleep. Flipping through Banner’s journal, he couldn’t make head or tails of what he’d been writing about so he tossed it on his nightstand and decided to take it to Steve tomorrow. Maybe some of Tony’s genius had rubbed off on him and he’d make sense of it.

Steve’s office was full of people when Clint entered and after the long night he’d had, it was loud enough to get on his nerves.

The Roger’s main office had become the de facto War Room.

James stood on one side of the room, papers pinned on the wall in front of him, plans of the parts of the city that they were methodologically searching through. They were moving outward from the point of the gala in concentric circles, the last place they knew for certain where Tony was.

Both leaders had distributed notification to the men of both gangs, and had the informants in all the boroughs on the lookout for anyone who looked like Tony. Their people didn’t know the details of who he was to Steve and James, only that he was a person of interest for the Romanov and Roger gangs and wanted alive.

Rhodey was on the couch, speaking with Thor and Dugan on the state of the weapon’s supplies and the men’s training. His dedication to Tony and his military expertise were a driving force that had gotten him out of the kitchen and into the heat of things. From the way that Dugan and Steve listened to him, it was clear that he was quickly becoming an influential voice in the leadership of the organization.

And Steve was sitting across from a friend of Thor’s, a beautiful woman who moved like Natasha. Which probably meant Clint should watch that his balls didn’t get separated from his body because of his reckless tongue.

Grinning in anticipation, Clint went over to them.

He dropped into the chair next to the mystery woman, uncaring that the conversation stuttered to a halt at his appearance. The muscle on Steve’s jaw twitched at his audacity, a reaction that Clint internally cheered. The blond could be so uptight sometimes, always thinking that there’s an appropriate time and place. Clint didn’t put much stock in that, but he liked tormenting Steve’s sensibilities.

Though it wasn’t as fun when Steve was stiff more often than not these days without Tony to soften him. New as he was, even Clint could see the noticeable difference.

He slid over the book he’d found.

“Banner’s journal,” he said, indicating with his head.

That done, he turned his attention to the beautiful woman next to him. She had dark skin and her hair tied up in a ponytail that bared the elegant lines of her face.

She oozed danger and confidence, eschewing the popular dresses for a stylish pair of tailored pants and a silk button-up. Breathable, easy to move in and with legs just loose enough to almost disguise the knife she had strapped to her thigh. Clint knew that if she was like Natasha in more than just movement, that was probably not the only blade on her body. 

How fun.

He leaned forward, and gave her his most winning smile. “I’m Clint Barton, master archer, but you can call me Cupid, darling, cause looking at you all I see is love in my future.”

“I could kill you with my pinky,” she said in a bored voice, not bothering to look at him.

“Ooo, dexterity,” he shivered. “I love handsy women.”

She leaned away from him, looking as if she was deciding whether or not to use that pretty blade strapped to her thigh. Clint almost hoped she would, if only to see how she’d move.

“Clint,” Steve interrupted, “stop disturbing my guest.”

Clint pouted but decided to tone it down before Moves-Like-Natasha decided to give him a nice new shiny hole with her pointy friend.

“Can I at least ask your name?”

Steve ignored him, flipping through the notations that filled the pages of the book in front of him. He was looking at the same cramped handwriting and pages full of lengthy equations that Clint had skimmed through earlier. And from the look of Steve’s face, he wasn’t having any more luck deciphering it as Clint did.

“Val,” beautiful woman answered. Then, copying Clint’s introduction, “Master swordswoman.”

Clint knew the sound that escaped him was indecent, and from the way gazes from around the room snapped to him, it was not appreciated but he didn’t care. A _swordswoman_? In this day and age? It was like finding a medieval knight in full chain mail and armour. An improbability so rare that it might as well have been an impossibility.

And he’d mucked it up with a cheesy line.

“You up for a spar sometime?” Clint tried to recover from his _faux pas_. “I’ve trained some with a katana but the lack of a practice partner has left me rusty.”

A spark of real interest lit up Val’s eyes. “I may be open to that. If you’re any good.”

He grinned, open and excited. “I don’t know if I’m good enough to keep up with a master swordswoman,” he warned. He wasn’t joking about being rusty. “But I can promise you that it’ll be entertaining if nothing else.”

The side of Val’s lush mouth curved up in a reluctant smile.

Steve slammed the book closed, frustration making his eyebrows twist like angry caterpillars.

“I don’t know what any of this means.”

“May I?” Val didn’t wait for an answer, taking the book and flipping through. Her dark brows climbed higher and higher up her forehead as she read.

“This is advanced stuff, mostly focused on biochemistry,” she said, surprise tinting her voice. She lay the book out on the desk, tracing a few of the equations out for them. “He was reverse engineering a compound, trying to figure out the exact dimensions of its chemical composition and their individual as well as composite effects on the human body.” A little awe leaked out as she read further, and Clint snickered.

“You feeling okay there?”

Her smile this time was slow and wide. “Complicated mathematics gets me hot and bothered. Do I get to meet the brilliant scientist putting this beautiful thing together?”

“Unlikely. The man who put this together is missing,” Steve said bluntly. He pulled out Banner’s file. Clint recognized the man in the photograph with the one that had littered the apartment, scattered with other people, family and close friends. Banner’s face stared out at them with serious eyes hidden behind wire-frames.

But he wasn’t the only one who recognized him.

“Holy shit!” Val swore, bringing the attention of the entire room to them again as she yanked the file to her. “I know this guy! He’s the fighter from the ring, the one that’s gone missing.”

Steve explained quickly. Valkyrie was the informant that had first told them about the underground fights, back when they’d had just started and they’d gotten word that the people behind it were recruiting fighters who needed a big paycheck or had nothing to lose. Or both.

She’d refused at the time, having established herself enough not to settle for scrambling for scraps from the rich and wealthy to pay for her lifestyle and had left New York in search of different things.

“But then I came back and things had changed.” She tapped her finger at the photo of Banner’s face again. “That man went missing, and they all went crazy because of it. He was their star fighter. I saw him take down _six men_ at once, which is crazy because he doesn’t look like he lifts anything heavier than a test tube rack.” She scrutinized the photo further, as if the polaroid would be able to answer the riddle of Banner’s impossible strength, her fingertips tracing over the glasses and gentle lines on the side of his eyes. “He doesn’t look anything like a fighter, and yet he was the strongest man I ever met.”

As if realizing that she still had an audience to her story, she dropped her hand from the file and sat back. “And when he vanished, his bosses were desperate to find anyone they could to fill the slot he left behind, especially because they had already presold tickets to his fight. With him gone, they would be expected to return the money, which of course was unthinkable. So they approached me.”

“I’m betting they weren’t interested in asking nicely,” Clint guessed and Val shot him an amused look.

“Not exactly. They attacked me. I fought, managed to get away and get to Thor. He brought me here.” She shrugged it off, but Clint was willing to bet that it wasn’t as easy and straightforward as she was making it out to be. Even if she had managed to get away, she was still hunted and she hadn’t known for certain that Thor wouldn’t betray her back to them or just turn her away.

“And you remember the way?” Steve confirmed.

“I marked it on a map when I escaped.” She pulled out the map from her pocket, dropped it down on Steve’s desk. “Thought you would want it, and I could barter it for my safety.”

Steve locked eyes with Clint, who nodded back to him. He stood and shrugged on his coat.

“I’ll go check it out.”

Steve stopped him with a hand.

“You shouldn’t go alone,” he said meaningfully and Clint scowled.

“Fine. I’ll fetch the nanny.”


End file.
